u/Agitated-Olive6453

Tiffany Stratton stood near the white balcony railing overlooking the waterway, the deep blue sequined dress clinging to every curve of her body under the clear sky. The fabric sparkled with every slight shift of her hips, the plunging neckline framing her full breasts as she posed for a few photos, one hand resting lightly on the railing. Across the venue, inside the elegant indoor space with the massive floral arrangement towering beside her, Blake Monroe adjusted the straps of her gold sequined cutout dress. The material hugged her midriff and accentuated the deep cleavage of her halter top, the side cutouts and waist detailing leaving little to the imagination as she smiled for the cameras.

Both women had been invited to the same exclusive industry party two nights before their scheduled match. The atmosphere was loud with music, clinking glasses, and the murmur of wrestlers, managers, and influencers circulating between the outdoor balcony and the indoor lounge. Tiffany had been holding court near the railing when Blake approached, champagne flute in hand, her long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder.

“Look who decided to show up looking like she raided the clearance rack,” Blake said, voice carrying just enough for nearby guests to hear. She took a slow sip, eyes dragging deliberately down Tiffany’s blue dress and lingering on the way the sequins stretched across her chest and hips. “That deep V is working overtime trying to keep those things from spilling out. You planning to use them as a distraction in two days, Stratton? Because your actual wrestling skills sure as hell won’t cut it.”

Tiffany turned, blonde waves shifting as she fixed Blake with a sharp smile. “Coming from the woman who looks like she got lost on the way to a strip club and decided to stay. That gold number is doing the absolute most and somehow still not enough. Those cutouts are screaming for attention because you know you can’t hang once the bell rings. I’ve been watching your matches. All flash, no substance. You’re going to get embarrassed in front of everyone.”

Blake stepped closer, the two of them now face to face near the transition between indoor and outdoor space. “Embarrassed? Baby, the only one getting embarrassed is you when I put you on your back and make you tap. Or maybe I’ll just sit on that pretty face of yours until you remember who the real star is. You’ve got the look, I’ll give you that, but those fake little smiles don’t hide how soft you are. Two days from now I’m going to bounce you around that ring like a ragdoll.”

Tiffany laughed, the sound sharp. “Soft? That’s rich coming from someone whose biggest asset is the pair she keeps shoving in everyone’s face. You think those gold-covered tits are going to save you when I lock in a hold? I’ll have you gasping for air while the crowd chants my name. You’re just noise, Monroe. Loud, shiny noise.”

The heat between them escalated fast. Guests started glancing over as the volume rose. Blake’s expression darkened. Without warning she tipped her champagne flute forward, the cold liquid cascading over Tiffany’s head and down the front of the blue dress. The champagne soaked into the sequins, running in rivulets between her breasts and darkening the fabric against her skin. Tiffany gasped, eyes wide with fury as the drink dripped from her hair onto her shoulders and cleavage.

“Whoops,” Blake said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. She set the empty glass aside and leaned in. “Looks like someone needed a cool down. Those big blue sparkles aren’t so shiny now that they’re wet. Maybe that’ll teach you to keep that mouth shut around your betters.”

Tiffany shoved Blake hard in the chest. “You bitch!” The shove sent Blake stumbling back a step, but she recovered instantly and grabbed a fistful of Tiffany’s wet hair, yanking her head sideways. Tiffany responded by driving a shoulder into Blake’s midsection, the two of them colliding against a nearby table. Glasses rattled. A few people shouted for them to stop, but neither woman listened.

Blake twisted, using her grip on Tiffany’s hair to spin her around and press her against the balcony railing from behind. She ground her hips forward, the gold sequins of her dress scraping against the wet blue fabric covering Tiffany’s ass. “Feel that?” Blake hissed into her ear. “That’s what it’s going to feel like when I press you into the mat. Your whole career is built on that ass and those tits, and I’m going to make sure everyone sees how useless they are when the pressure’s on.”

Tiffany drove an elbow back into Blake’s ribs, forcing her to loosen the hold. She spun and swung a hand that caught Blake across the cheek. The slap cracked loud enough to draw more attention. Blake’s head snapped to the side, but she came right back, grabbing Tiffany by the waist of her dress and hauling her forward. Their bodies slammed together, breasts crushing against each other through the wet sequins and gold fabric. Tiffany’s soaked cleavage pressed hard into Blake’s, the champagne still dripping between them.

“You think a little champagne makes you tough?” Tiffany snarled, hands locking onto Blake’s upper arms. She shoved again, trying to create space, but Blake locked her legs and forced them both sideways. They crashed into a standing floral arrangement, the large urn rocking but not tipping. Blake used the momentum to spin Tiffany once more, this time facing her, and deliberately mashed her own breasts upward into Tiffany’s face.

The soft, heavy pressure of Blake’s gold-covered chest smothered Tiffany’s nose and mouth. Blake held the position, arms wrapped around Tiffany’s head, grinding her cleavage against the other woman’s face with deliberate force. “Breathe it in, Stratton. This is what a real woman’s body feels like. You’re going to pass out on these before I even get you in the ring. Smell that? That’s the smell of someone who’s about to own you for three straight falls.”

Tiffany struggled, hands pushing against Blake’s sides, fingers digging into the cutouts of the gold dress. She managed to turn her head enough to gasp for air, cheek still pressed against the soft curve of Blake’s breast. “Get the hell off me, you psycho! You’re nothing but a walking pair of balloons with a bad attitude. When I get you in that ring I’m going to fold you in half and make you cry for your mommy.”

Blake laughed, the sound vibrating through the contact of their bodies. She shifted her weight and drove a knee up between Tiffany’s legs, not hard enough to truly injure but enough to make the point, while still keeping her chest mashed against Tiffany’s face. “Mommy’s right here, sweetheart. And mommy says you’re done talking. Look at you, all wet and red-faced, trying to act like you’re not about to fold the second I start working that body of yours. Two days. That’s all the time you’ve got left to pretend you’re on my level.”

Tiffany managed to free one arm and clawed at Blake’s side, nails scraping across bare skin exposed by the cutouts. Blake hissed and finally pulled back just enough for Tiffany to suck in a full breath. The moment of space lasted only a second. Tiffany lunged forward and grabbed two handfuls of Blake’s gold dress near the hips, yanking the other woman sideways. They both went down hard onto the tiled floor near the railing, Tiffany landing on top for a brief moment. She drove her own chest down into Blake’s face in retaliation, the wet blue sequins pressing heavily against Blake’s mouth and nose.

“How’s that feel, Monroe?” Tiffany growled, grinding her breasts down with deliberate weight. “Not so fun when the tables turn. You wanted to play the mother routine? Fine. Now take what you give. I’m going to smother the attitude right out of you.”

Blake bucked her hips hard, the motion lifting Tiffany slightly before Blake rolled them both. Now Blake was on top again, straddling Tiffany’s waist, the gold dress hiked up enough to show the powerful lines of her thighs. She leaned down and once more forced her cleavage over Tiffany’s face, this time adding a slow, grinding motion of her hips that pressed their lower bodies together. The crowd had formed a loose circle by now, some filming, others shouting for security.

“You feel that ass?” Blake said, voice low and mocking as she rolled her hips. “That’s the last thing you’re going to feel before the lights go out in that ring. I’m going to sit on that pretty face until the referee has no choice but to count you out. And these?” She pressed her breasts harder against Tiffany’s face for emphasis. “These are going to be the last thing you see every time you close your eyes after I beat you.”

Tiffany’s hands found Blake’s hips and shoved upward with everything she had. The move broke the smother just long enough for her to twist and drive a forearm across Blake’s collarbone. Both women scrambled to their knees, still locked together, hands grabbing at hair, shoulders, and the wet fabric of each other’s dresses. Blake’s fingers hooked into the deep V of Tiffany’s dress and yanked, the sequined material stretching and exposing even more of Tiffany’s cleavage as champagne continued to drip down her skin.

“Look at that,” Blake taunted, eyes locked on the exposed skin. “All that talk and you’re still just a pair of tits in a sparkly dress. Two days from now I’m going to bounce those things off the mat so hard the whole arena hears it. You’re going to beg me to stop while I work that body like it belongs to me.”

Tiffany answered by grabbing a thick section of Blake’s long blonde hair and yanking her head down toward her own chest. She forced Blake’s face into the wet, sequined valley of her breasts and held it there, grinding upward. “You want to talk about belonging? You’re going to be the one tapping out while you’re buried in these. Keep running that mouth. It just makes the win sweeter when I shut it for good.”

The two of them rolled again, bodies slamming against the base of the white railing. Blake ended up with her back against the metal bars, Tiffany’s full weight pressing into her. Tiffany’s knee drove between Blake’s thighs while her hands kept Blake’s face mashed against her soaked cleavage. Blake’s hands, in turn, locked onto Tiffany’s ass, fingers digging into the firm curves through the blue sequins and squeezing hard as she tried to create leverage.

“Nice try,” Blake managed, voice muffled against Tiffany’s chest. She used the grip on Tiffany’s ass to haul the other woman closer rather than push her away, the motion grinding their bodies together from chest to hip. “Keep pressing those into me. I’m memorizing every soft spot so I know exactly where to hit when the match starts. You’re going to regret every second of this.”

Tiffany’s reply was cut short when Blake suddenly shifted her weight and reversed their positions once more. This time Blake straddled Tiffany’s midsection fully, knees pinning her arms, and leaned all the way down until her gold-covered breasts completely covered Tiffany’s face again. She rocked her hips in a slow, deliberate motion, the gold sequins sliding against the wet blue fabric, while keeping the smother locked in place.

“Pass out for me, Stratton,” Blake said, voice low and cruel. “Go ahead. The crowd is watching. Let them see how easy it is to shut you down. Two days from now this is going to look like a warm-up. I’m going to own every part of you in that ring those tits, that ass, that mouth. Everything.”

Tiffany’s struggles grew more frantic under the combined pressure of Blake’s weight and the lack of air. Her legs kicked against the floor, sequined blue fabric shifting with every movement. Just as her resistance began to weaken, several larger figures from the crowd finally surged forward. Hands grabbed Blake’s shoulders and arms, hauling her upward and off Tiffany. Other hands helped Tiffany sit up, champagne still dripping from her hair and the front of her ruined dress.

Both women were breathing hard, chests heaving, dresses disheveled and stained. Blake wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, eyes still locked on Tiffany with pure heat. “Two days,” she said, loud enough for everyone still watching. “Don’t be late. I want you fresh when I put you away.”

Tiffany pushed herself to her feet with help from a couple of bystanders, blue sequins still sparkling under the wet patches. She locked eyes with Blake and gave a slow, deliberate smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be there. And when I walk out of that ring the only thing anyone will remember is how hard you fell. Keep talking. It just makes the payoff better.”

Security finally managed to create space between them, ushering the two women in opposite directions as the party continued around the residual chaos. The champagne on the floor, the disheveled sequined dresses, and the lingering tension made one thing clear to everyone who had watched: the match in two days was no longer just another card filler. It was personal, and neither woman intended to leave anything in the tank.

The arena lights dimmed as the opening notes of Tiffany Stratton’s music hit. The crowd rose in a wave of noise while she stepped through the curtain in her sparkly cherry-print ring gear, the crystal-covered bra top catching every beam of light and the matching bottoms hugging her hips and ass tight. Thigh-high patterned boots and long sleeves completed the look as she strutted down the ramp, blonde hair swinging, one hand already raised in confident acknowledgment of the cheers. She climbed the steel steps, posed on the apron for a long moment with her chest pushed forward, then slid into the ring and climbed the nearest turnbuckle, arching her back so the sequins across her breasts and the curve of her ass were fully on display.

Blake Monroe’s music answered almost immediately. She emerged in the pastel blue and pink fairy-inspired gear, butterfly accents glittering across the cutout top and bottoms, fishnet stockings and shiny pink boots gleaming under the lights. The crowd’s reaction mixed cheers and boos as she walked with deliberate swagger, hips swaying, one hand running through her long blonde hair. She paused at the bottom of the ramp to flex and turn, giving the hard camera a clear view of the way the fabric framed her chest and the high cut of the bottoms over her ass. Then she entered the ring, locked eyes with Tiffany, and the two women circled each other while the referee checked their gear.

The bell rang.

They locked up in the center. Tiffany shoved Blake back first, using the momentum to spin her toward the ropes and whip her hard into the corner. Blake hit the turnbuckles chest-first, the impact making her breasts bounce inside the pastel top. Tiffany charged in right behind her, driving a shoulder into Blake’s midsection and then grinding her own chest against Blake’s back while she worked short punches to the ribs. “Still talking about owning me after that party?” Tiffany spat near Blake’s ear. “You’re about to find out what happens when the lights are on and there’s nowhere to hide those soft spots.”

Blake pushed off the corner with a reverse elbow that caught Tiffany across the jaw. She spun, grabbed a handful of Tiffany’s hair, and yanked her face-first into the opposite corner. The crystal bra top smashed against the padded turnbuckle. Blake pressed in tight from behind, hips rolling forward so her crotch ground against Tiffany’s ass while both hands reached around and cupped Tiffany’s breasts through the sequined fabric, squeezing hard. “Feel familiar?” Blake hissed. “Just like the champagne night. Only this time the whole building gets to watch me work these. Soft little things. I’m going to bounce them off every corner until you forget how to breathe.”

Tiffany drove her head back, catching Blake in the face, then turned and fired a series of chops that echoed across the arena. Blake staggered. Tiffany whipped her into the far corner again and followed with a running knee to the midsection. She trapped Blake there, one forearm across the throat while the other hand openly groped Blake’s chest, fingers digging into the soft flesh spilling from the cutout top. “Talk less. Tap more. These aren’t going to save you when I start folding you in half.”

Blake answered by trapping Tiffany’s arm and using the corner for leverage, spinning them so Tiffany’s back was now against the turnbuckles. She drove her own chest upward into Tiffany’s face, smothering her against the padded corner while grinding her hips in slow, deliberate circles. The pastel fabric of Blake’s top pressed over Tiffany’s nose and mouth. “Breathe it in again, Stratton. Mommy’s back. And this time there’s a referee counting the seconds while I keep these on you.”

Tiffany’s hands scrambled, finding Blake’s hips and shoving hard enough to create space. She ducked a clothesline and answered with a dropkick that sent Blake crashing to the mat. Tiffany wasted no time, dragging Blake by the hair toward the nearest corner and draping her upper body over the second rope so her chest hung heavy against the cables. Tiffany climbed the opposite turnbuckle, waited for the crowd’s reaction, then launched a diving crossbody that crushed both of them into the corner padding. The impact flattened Blake’s breasts against the ropes and Tiffany’s against Blake’s back.

They rolled out to the floor in a tangle. Blake recovered first, slamming Tiffany’s face into the ring apron before hoisting her up and whipping her into the steel steps. Tiffany’s chest took the brunt of the impact. Blake followed, pressing Tiffany face-first against the steps and grinding her own hips against Tiffany’s ass while the crowd counted along with every hard thrust of her body. “That’s the sound of you losing already. Keep that ass right there. I’m memorizing the shape so I know exactly how it’s going to look when I sit on it later.”

Tiffany reversed with a sudden back elbow and a low spear that dumped Blake onto the concrete. She dragged Blake back into the ring by one boot, then immediately went to work in the corner again, this time trapping Blake’s arms on the top rope while she pressed her own chest fully into Blake’s face and rolled her shoulders. The crystal cherries on Tiffany’s top scraped across Blake’s cheeks. “You wanted the smother game? Take it. Every time you open that mouth I’m going to fill it with these until the only thing coming out is a tap.”

Blake bucked hard, using the ropes for leverage to reverse their positions once more. She forced Tiffany into a seated position in the corner, straddled her thighs, and mashed her pastel-covered breasts down over Tiffany’s face while the referee hovered nearby. Blake’s hips rocked in a steady rhythm, the motion grinding their lower bodies together as she kept the smother locked. “Pass out for the camera, princess. Let them see how easy it is. Two days of big talk and you’re already red-faced under these.”

Tiffany’s legs kicked. She managed to plant both boots in Blake’s midsection and shove her backward into the opposite corner. Both women were breathing hard now, chests heaving, skin shining with sweat under the arena lights. Tiffany charged. Blake met her with a boot to the face, then climbed the turnbuckle herself. She waited until Tiffany rose, then dove with a flying body press that drove both of them into the center of the mat. Blake landed on top and immediately transitioned into a pin, her full chest weight pressing down across Tiffany’s upper body while one thigh pinned Tiffany’s hips.

One.

Two.

Tiffany kicked out hard.

Blake stayed aggressive, rolling Tiffany toward the ropes and draping her head and shoulders outside so her chest hung over the apron. Blake then sat fully on Tiffany’s face from inside the ring, the pastel bottoms and the firm curve of her ass completely covering Tiffany’s mouth and nose while she leaned forward and worked stiff punches to the exposed midsection. The crowd’s reaction was pure heat. Blake ground down harder, rotating her hips in slow circles. “This is what the win feels like already. That mouth of yours is finally useful for something. Keep struggling. It just makes the view better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s arms flailed until she found the bottom rope and yanked herself free enough to breathe. She scrambled up, eyes burning, and met Blake with a flurry of forearms that backed her into the corner once more. This time Tiffany climbed the middle rope and dropped a double knee strike across Blake’s chest, the impact making Blake’s breasts bounce hard against the sequined fabric. Tiffany stayed in close, trapping Blake’s head against her own cleavage while she delivered short, sharp knees to the midsection. “You feel those? That’s the last thing you’re going to feel before the lights go out. Tap or get carried out. Your choice.”

Blake powered out with a sudden surge, reversing Tiffany into a powerbomb that drove her spine-first into the mat. Both women were slower to rise. They met in the center for a series of near-falls Blake hitting a modified victory roll that almost got the three, Tiffany answering with a sudden small package that drew another two-count. Each exchange ended with one of them grinding against the other for extra leverage, chests pressed together, hands openly grabbing at ass and hips while the referee struggled to keep them legal.

The finish came after another long sequence in the corner. Blake had Tiffany trapped against the turnbuckles again, both hands locked on Tiffany’s wrists while she drove her chest repeatedly into Tiffany’s face. Tiffany’s knees buckled. Blake stepped back just enough to create space, then charged forward with a running knee that caught Tiffany flush under the chin. Tiffany crumpled. Blake wasted no time. She dragged Tiffany to the center of the ring, draped one leg over for the pin, and dropped her full upper-body weight across Tiffany’s chest so her breasts pressed down hard while the referee dropped to count.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang. Blake’s music hit. She rolled off, chest still heaving, and climbed the nearest turnbuckle to pose with one arm raised while the other hand openly cupped her own breast for the hard camera. Below her, Tiffany stirred slowly, one hand covering her face as the referee raised Blake’s arm.

Blake looked down at her defeated opponent and smirked, voice carrying over the speakers. “Told you two days ago. Mommy always wins. Keep those soft spots ready. We’re not done.”

Tiffany pushed herself to a sitting position as the medical staff approached, eyes locked on Blake with pure fire even through the loss. The crowd continued to roar while Blake celebrated in the corner, hips rolling, the pastel gear still sparkling under the lights, the back-and-forth war finally settled on this night with Blake Monroe’s hand raised.

The celebration had barely started when Tiffany Stratton exploded off the mat.

Blake was still posed on the turnbuckle, one arm raised, the pastel butterfly gear glittering under the lights, when Tiffany’s hands locked around her ankles and yanked hard. Blake’s boots slipped. She crashed down onto the apron in a heap of blonde hair and sequins. Tiffany was on her instantly, dragging her fully back inside the ring by the hair while the referee tried and failed to get between them. The crowd noise shifted from cheers to pure shock as Tiffany shoved Blake face-first into the nearest corner and climbed the middle rope behind her.

“You thought that three-count meant anything?” Tiffany snarled, voice raw. She planted both boots on the second rope for leverage, then drove her hips forward in a hard, grinding thrust that smashed her crystal-covered crotch against the back of Blake’s head. The impact forced Blake’s face deeper into the padded turnbuckle. Tiffany held the position and rolled her hips in slow, deliberate circles, the firm curve of her ass pressing down while the sequined bottoms dragged across Blake’s hair and neck. “This is what you get for running that mouth. Smell it. Breathe it. You wanted to play mommy? Mommy’s about to sit on that pretty face until you remember who actually runs this place.”

Blake tried to push back, but Tiffany shifted her weight and dropped fully into a stinkface, the soft but heavy pressure of her ass completely covering Blake’s nose and mouth. She ground down harder, rotating her hips so the motion smeared across Blake’s cheeks. One hand reached around and openly groped Blake’s chest through the pastel top, squeezing and lifting the soft flesh while the stinkface continued. “Feel those hands? Same ones that are going to keep these soft little things bouncing while I work that face. You smothered me at the party. You smothered me in this ring. Now take what you give.”

Blake’s arms flailed. She managed to hook one of Tiffany’s boots and yank, spilling both of them out of the corner onto the mat. Tiffany recovered first, climbing right back to her feet and trapping Blake in a front facelock so she could drive repeated hip attacks into Blake’s midsection. Each thrust of Tiffany’s hips slammed her crotch against Blake’s body, the crystal bottoms grinding hard while Tiffany’s free hand kept a tight grip on Blake’s breast, fingers digging in and twisting just enough to draw a muffled cry. “Hip after hip. That’s the sound of you losing the only win you had tonight. Keep gasping. It just makes the next one better.”

Tiffany spun Blake around and forced her onto her hands and knees in the center of the ring. She straddled Blake’s upper back, dropped her full weight, and ground her ass down across the length of Blake’s spine before settling once more over Blake’s face from above. The second stinkface was slower, more deliberate. Tiffany leaned forward, planted both hands on Blake’s hips, and rolled her own hips in long, grinding circles while the crowd’s reaction mixed horror and heat. “Pass out on it if you have to. I’m not moving until you understand. Those big talks about owning me? This is ownership. My ass on your face. My hands on these.” She reached under and cupped both of Blake’s breasts from behind, squeezing them together and bouncing them roughly in time with every grind of her hips.

Blake’s body bucked hard. She planted both boots, arched her back, and exploded upward with enough force to dump Tiffany sideways. The moment of space was all she needed. Blake scrambled free, chest heaving, mascara slightly smeared, and locked eyes with Tiffany while the referee still tried to restore order. “You want to play the humiliation game now?” Blake’s voice was low and dangerous. “Fine. Let’s finish what you started.”

She charged. Tiffany met her with a wild swing, but Blake ducked under it, grabbed Tiffany by the waist, and hoisted her up into a sudden powerbomb that drove Tiffany’s upper body into the mat. Before Tiffany could roll away, Blake dragged her by the hair to the same corner Tiffany had used and shoved her face-first into the turnbuckles. Blake climbed the middle rope exactly the way Tiffany had, then dropped her full weight into a reverse stinkface of her own. The pastel-covered curve of Blake’s ass smashed over Tiffany’s face and stayed there, grinding in slow, punishing circles while Blake’s hands reached around and locked onto Tiffany’s crystal-covered breasts.

“Feel familiar?” Blake hissed, voice thick with mockery as she rolled her hips harder. “This is the exact same position you just put me in. Same corner. Same grind. Same soft things in my hands.” She squeezed Tiffany’s breasts roughly, lifting and pressing them together while the stinkface continued. “You wanted me to smell it? Now you get to smell mine. Breathe deep, Stratton. Every second of that big attack is about to come right back on you.”

Tiffany’s struggles grew frantic under the smother. Blake kept the pressure locked, shifting her weight so more of her ass settled fully across Tiffany’s face while her fingers continued to work Tiffany’s chest, pinching and bouncing the soft flesh in time with every grind. “You almost had me. Almost. But you got greedy with the hips and the face-sitting. Now take the full dose. This is what happens when you try to humiliate the wrong woman.”

Blake finally stepped down from the ropes, but she was not finished. She forced Tiffany onto her back in the center of the ring, straddled her chest, and dropped both of her own breasts fully over Tiffany’s face. The soft, heavy weight of the pastel top pressed down across Tiffany’s nose and mouth while Blake’s hips began a steady, grinding rhythm against Tiffany’s midsection. “Last time you almost passed out on these at the party. Tonight you actually will.” Blake leaned forward, increasing the pressure, rolling her shoulders so her breasts shifted and mashed harder against Tiffany’s face. One hand stayed planted on the mat for balance while the other openly groped Tiffany’s chest, squeezing in time with every roll of her hips.

Tiffany’s legs kicked weakly. Her hands pushed at Blake’s sides, but the strength was fading fast under the combined smother and the relentless grinding. Blake kept talking the entire time, voice low and cruel. “That’s it. Let it happen. Eyes rolling back while these stay on you. Ass, tits, hips you used all of them on me. Now they’re the last things you feel before the lights go out.”

The final grind of Blake’s hips and the full weight of her chest locked in place. Tiffany’s struggles slowed. Her arms dropped to the mat. Her legs went still. Blake held the position for several long seconds after Tiffany went limp, making sure the pass-out was complete, before finally rolling off to the side. She stayed on her knees for a moment, chest still heaving, looking down at Tiffany’s unconscious form while the referee and medical staff finally flooded the ring.

Blake stayed on her knees for a long moment after Tiffany went completely limp, chest still rising and falling hard under the pastel butterfly top. The medical staff and referee were already moving in, but Blake made no move to leave just yet. She looked down at Tiffany’s unconscious face, the crystal cherry gear still sparkling under the arena lights, and a slow, cruel smile spread across her lips.

She reached down with both hands and openly cupped her own breasts through the cutout fabric, lifting them, squeezing them together, and bouncing them once for the hard camera that had zoomed in tight. “Look at these, Stratton,” she said, voice loud enough to carry over the residual crowd noise and the officials’ chatter. “These are the last thing you saw before the lights went out. Soft, heavy, and right on that pretty face of yours until you stopped moving. You tried so hard with the stinkfaces and the hip attacks. You really thought grinding that crystal-covered ass on me was going to change anything. All it did was give me the perfect excuse to put you to sleep the same way I almost did at the party.”

Blake leaned closer, still holding her own breasts, and gave them another deliberate bounce so they jiggled heavily inside the pastel top. “Mommy’s soft little pillows put you right out. You were kicking, you were grabbing, you were trying so hard to push them off. And then nothing. Just those eyes rolling back while these stayed locked on you. That’s the difference between us. You talk about folding people in half. I actually finish the job.”

She released her own chest and reached down instead, taking Tiffany’s limp wrists and placing the unconscious woman’s hands directly onto her own breasts for a moment, pressing Tiffany’s palms flat against the soft flesh so the cameras caught every second. “There. Even knocked out you’re still reaching for them. That’s how deep this is in your head now. Every time you close your eyes you’re going to feel the weight of these on your face again. Every time you try to talk tough you’re going to remember how fast you went limp under them.”

Blake finally let Tiffany’s hands drop back to the mat. She rose to her full height, rolled her shoulders so her breasts shifted and settled heavily inside the top, then walked a slow circle around Tiffany’s still body while the officials checked for a response. She stopped at Tiffany’s head, planted one boot on either side, and leaned forward just enough that the full curve of her cleavage hung directly over Tiffany’s face one more time.

“Sleep tight, princess. You earned every second of that pass-out. Tried to humiliate me with the stinkface. Tried to work my hips. Tried to act like the champagne and the party brawl somehow made you the dangerous one. All it did was show everyone watching that when the real pressure hits, you fold. And these?” Blake cupped her breasts again, lifting them high and letting them drop with a soft bounce. “These are the reason you’re still lying there while I’m still standing.”

She straightened, gave the crowd one final pose with both hands under her own chest, pushing her breasts up and together so the pastel fabric strained, then turned toward the ropes. Blake climbed out of the ring slowly, making sure every camera angle caught the heavy sway of her chest as she moved. She paused on the apron, looked back one last time at Tiffany’s unconscious form still being attended to in the center of the ring, and smirked.

“Next time you want to put your hands or your face anywhere near me, remember how this ended. Mommy always has the last word. And the last thing you feel.”

Blake dropped to the floor, the pastel gear still glittering, her breasts shifting heavily with every step as she walked up the ramp without looking back. The arena lights stayed on Tiffany’s limp body in the ring while Blake disappeared through the curtain, the mockery and the final display of her chest lingering in the air long after she was gone.

Ecem stepped onto the soft sand near the wrestling mat that had been set up under the woven beach canopy, her long blonde hair still wet and clinging to her shoulders and back. The light pink checkered bikini top struggled to contain her full natural breasts, the soft heavy weight making them sway with every step. The thin gold star necklace rested deep in her cleavage. She rolled her neck and looked across at her opponent with a sharp smile.

Mira stood waiting in her black bikini, equally blonde with long straight hair falling past her shoulders. Her large natural breasts filled the triangle top completely, the soft flesh pressing against the thin material. She adjusted her sunglasses for a moment before tossing them aside, then placed her hands on her hips and pushed her chest forward.

“Look at those soft heavy pink things,” Mira called out, her voice full of mockery. “They bounce every time you breathe. I’m going to put my face right between them and then flip it so your face is the one buried under mine. Those natural melons of yours are coming straight to my face first.”

Ecem laughed and cupped her own breasts from underneath, lifting them and letting them drop with a heavy bounce. “These soft natural ones are ready for your face. I’m going to smother that pretty mouth of yours until you can’t talk trash anymore. Then I’ll grab that big round ass of yours and pull it right onto my face too. You’re going to feel every soft inch of me.”

The match began. Both women closed the distance fast. Mira lunged and wrapped her arms around Ecem’s waist, pulling her in so their soft natural breasts smashed together hard. The pressure flattened the heavy flesh between them. Mira immediately shifted upward and pressed her large black covered tits straight into Ecem’s face, grinding the soft warm weight across her nose and mouth.

“First faceful of soft natural tits,” Mira taunted, bouncing her heavy pair up and down against Ecem’s features. “Breathe them in. They’re bigger and softer than yours and they’re staying right here.”

Ecem’s hands slid down and grabbed both of Mira’s round ass cheeks, squeezing hard and pulling them apart while she tried to twist free. She managed to shove Mira’s chest back just enough to speak. “Your soft heavy melons feel good on my face but mine are going right back on yours.”

She ducked under and drove forward, tackling Mira onto the mat. Ecem climbed high and dropped her full pink covered breasts directly onto Mira’s face, smothering her completely. She rocked side to side, dragging the soft natural flesh across Mira’s mouth, nose, and eyes.

“Now you get my soft natural tits all over your face,” Ecem mocked. “Heavy and warm and full. I’m going to keep them here while I reach back and slap that big soft ass of yours.”

She did exactly that, delivering firm spanks to Mira’s round cheeks so the soft flesh jiggled under her palm. Mira bucked hard and rolled them over. Now Mira sat high on Ecem’s chest and lowered her large natural breasts straight down onto Ecem’s face again. She pressed both soft heavy tits together around Ecem’s entire face, creating a thick warm seal.

“Back under these soft blonde ones,” Mira said with a mean grin. “My natural pair covers more of your face than yours ever could. Feel how soft and heavy they are? They’re cutting off your air on purpose.”

Ecem’s hands came up and grabbed Mira’s ass once more, digging fingers deep into the soft cheeks and spreading them while she pushed her face deeper into the smother on purpose. “These soft heavy things of yours taste good against my mouth,” she muffled. “But when I get free your face is getting my pink soft tits and then that round ass right on top of it.”

Mira lifted just enough to shift and then dropped her full chest weight again, this time pressing one large soft breast over Ecem’s mouth and the other over her eyes. She ground them in slow circles, the natural softness molding perfectly to every feature.

“Talk more shit while you can,” Mira taunted. “Every word just pushes your face deeper into my soft natural melons. I’m going to keep smothering you like this until your soft pink ones are bouncing helplessly underneath me.”

Ecem arched hard and managed to create space. She shoved Mira sideways and scrambled on top, immediately dropping her own full natural breasts onto Mira’s face. She bounced them up and down so the soft heavy weight slapped against Mira’s cheeks and forehead.

“My turn to cover that face,” Ecem said. “Soft natural tits straight to your mouth. Breathe them. Love them. Because next I’m pulling this big round ass of yours right onto my face too.”

She reached under and grabbed Mira’s ass cheeks, squeezing and lifting them while she continued the face smother. Mira’s hands found Ecem’s soft heavy breasts and squeezed them from the sides, bouncing them while her face stayed buried.

They rolled again. Mira ended up behind Ecem in a reverse position and pulled Ecem’s round ass straight back onto her face. She pressed her mouth and nose deep between the soft cheeks while her hands reached around and grabbed both of Ecem’s large natural breasts, lifting and dropping them so they bounced heavily.

“Ass on my face feels just as soft as those big natural tits,” Mira muffled against the flesh. “I’m going to keep this round soft ass right here while I play with your heavy melons from behind.”

Ecem pushed back into the face smother and then spun around, reversing so that Mira’s large soft breasts were now pressed firmly against her own face. She nuzzled deep into the warm cleavage and then used both hands to push the heavy natural flesh tighter around her features.

“Soft natural tits back on my face,” Ecem said between the flesh. “I could stay here all day but I’m still winning this.”

Mira locked her legs and flipped them once more. She climbed high and planted herself fully over Ecem’s face, lowering her large black covered breasts with deliberate weight. The soft natural pair settled completely across Ecem’s nose, mouth, and eyes. Mira pressed down hard and began a slow grinding motion, dragging the heavy soft flesh back and forth.

“This is the real smother,” Mira declared. “My soft heavy natural tits all over your face. No more of your pink ones getting near me. Just mine. Soft. Full. Cutting off everything.”

Ecem’s hands clutched at Mira’s round ass, squeezing and spanking the soft cheeks while her legs kicked. Mira only pressed lower, using more of her chest weight. She reached down and grabbed both of Ecem’s large natural breasts, bouncing them roughly so the soft heavy flesh jiggled while the smother continued without pause.

“Your soft pink tits are bouncing for me while your face stays buried under mine,” Mira mocked. “Feel how much heavier and softer these natural ones are? They’re winning this face battle completely.”

She shifted her weight even more forward until almost her entire upper body rested on the thick soft breasts covering Ecem’s face. Mira rocked slowly, grinding the natural weight deeper with every movement.

“Tap under these soft blonde melons,” Mira ordered. “My natural pair is better at smothering a face than yours ever will be. Soft. Heavy. Warm. All over you until you give up.”

Ecem’s struggles grew weaker. Her fingers still dug into Mira’s soft round ass cheeks but the continuous face smother was overwhelming. Mira held the position firmly, bouncing her large natural breasts lightly against Ecem’s face one last time before pressing them down fully again.

Ecem’s hand finally came free and slapped the mat twice, clear and decisive.

Mira kept the smother going for several more long seconds, grinding her soft heavy natural tits across every inch of Ecem’s face, then slowly lifted up. Ecem gasped for air, her face flushed and marked from the long intense smother, her own full natural breasts still rising and falling rapidly.

Mira remained seated on Ecem’s chest for a moment, looking down with a satisfied smile. She reached out and gave both of Ecem’s soft heavy breasts one final firm squeeze and bounce.

“Told you these soft natural ones of mine would finish it,” Mira said. “Your face under my big soft tits. That’s the win. Match over. I win.”

Ecem lay there breathing hard, still feeling the lingering softness and weight. She managed a tired smile and reached up to cup Mira’s large natural breasts one more time, feeling the soft heavy flesh in her hands.

“Those soft heavy things really did smother me out clean,” Ecem admitted. “Your natural tits on my face were too much. Next time I’m the one putting my soft pair and that round ass of yours right on your face until you tap.”

Mira laughed and gave Ecem’s breasts another slow bounce.

Mira stayed firmly seated on Ecem’s chest after the tap, her large soft natural breasts still hovering just above Ecem’s flushed face. She looked down with a victorious smirk and reached out, grabbing a handful of Ecem’s blonde hair to keep her head in place.

“You’re not done yet,” Mira said, her voice low and commanding. “You tapped under these soft heavy tits of mine, so now you’re going to show them some respect. Kiss them. Both of them. Nice and slow.”

Ecem’s eyes widened as Mira lowered her full black covered breasts closer. The soft natural weight pressed lightly against Ecem’s lips. Mira held the position and pushed one large soft breast firmly against Ecem’s mouth.

“Open up and kiss it,” Mira ordered. “Feel how soft and warm this natural one is. Put those lips right on it and kiss like you mean it.”

Ecem hesitated for a second, still breathing hard from the smother. Mira tightened her grip on Ecem’s hair and pressed the soft heavy flesh more firmly against her mouth. “Do it. Kiss my soft natural tit. Now.”

Ecem’s lips parted and pressed against the warm soft skin just above the black bikini top. She kissed once, then again, feeling the natural give of Mira’s large breast under her mouth. Mira let out a pleased hum and shifted so the other soft heavy breast came forward.

“Good girl. Now the other one,” Mira taunted. “Kiss this soft natural melon just as nice. I want to feel those lips all over both of them.”

Ecem kissed the second breast, her mouth lingering on the soft warm flesh. Mira bounced the heavy pair lightly against Ecem’s face while keeping the hair grip firm.

“Keep going,” Mira said with a mean smile. “Kiss deeper. Right into the soft part. These big natural tits smothered you out and now they’re getting rewarded. Soft slow kisses. Don’t stop.”

Ecem continued, pressing her lips firmly against each soft heavy breast in turn. Mira guided her head from one to the other, making sure both natural tits received equal attention. She reached down with her free hand and gave Ecem’s own full pink covered breasts a firm squeeze and bounce while the kissing continued.

“That’s it. Kiss my soft heavy natural ones like they own your face,” Mira mocked. “Feel how full and warm they are under your lips. These blonde soft melons won the match and now they’re getting all the kisses they deserve.”

She pressed both large soft breasts together around Ecem’s face for a moment, forcing the kisses deeper into the warm cleavage, then pulled back just enough to let Ecem kiss each one separately again. Mira’s round ass shifted on Ecem’s chest as she settled more comfortably, enjoying the control.

“One more time on each,” Mira ordered. “Nice long kisses. Soft natural tits get the full treatment from the loser.”

Ecem obeyed, kissing the first soft heavy breast slowly and thoroughly, then the second. Mira finally released her hair and gave both of her own large natural breasts a satisfied bounce.

“That’s better,” Mira said, still sitting on Ecem’s chest. “You kissed my soft heavy natural tits just like I wanted. Remember how they felt on your face and under your lips. Next time you talk trash I’ll make you do it again after I smother you out.”

Ecem lay there catching her breath, lips still tingling from the forced kisses on Mira’s soft natural breasts, her own full heavy pair still rising and falling under Mira’s seated weight. Mira gave Ecem’s pink covered breasts one last firm squeeze before finally climbing off, leaving no doubt who controlled every part of the finish.

The lights in the arena pulsed as the crowd roared for the upcoming women’s match on AEW Rampage. Anna Jay, the Queenslayer from Brunswick, Georgia, stood in the entranceway wearing her signature pink and black star-studded gear, fishnets hugging her strong legs, blonde hair pulled high. She had been building momentum, known for her sharp strikes and that deadly Queenslayer cutter. Across the way, Queen Aminata from Guinea, West Africa, made her way out in her striking white patterned outfit with fringes and chains, her athletic frame and confident strut drawing loud cheers. She had come through the independents, won gold in GCW, and was hungry for her first major televised statement in AEW.

The two women met in the center of the ring as the referee called for the bell. Anna Jay smirked first, circling slowly.

“Look at you, all dressed up like some African fashion show,” Anna Jay said, voice sharp. “I’m the Queenslayer, baby. I’ve been putting queens in their place since day one. You’re just another name on the list.”

Queen Aminata tilted her head, a confident smile spreading. “Queenslayer? Cute nickname for a girl who still hasn’t held that gold. I’m the real Queen. From Guinea to these ropes, I carry real power. You’re just noise from Georgia.”

Anna Jay lunged first with a quick forearm, but Aminata blocked and shoved her back. The crowd popped as they locked up. Anna Jay pushed Aminata into the ropes and bounced off for a running shoulder tackle. Aminata absorbed it, spun around, and fired back with a hard hip attack that slammed her powerful rear into Anna Jay’s midsection. Anna Jay stumbled, clutching her stomach.

“That’s how a real queen moves,” Aminata taunted, turning and grinding her hips against Anna Jay’s side before delivering another fierce hip thrust that sent Anna Jay crashing to the mat. “Feel that power? My ass hits harder than your whole game.”

Anna Jay rolled to her knees, eyes narrowed. “Keep talking with that mouth. I’m about to shut it.”

She charged and caught Aminata with a dropkick, then scrambled up and leaped for a springboard forearm. Aminata ducked, grabbed Anna Jay mid-air, and slammed her down with a spinebuster. Before Anna Jay could recover, Aminata climbed to the second rope, turned her back, and dropped into a sitting position right onto Anna Jay’s face, grinding her rear down hard in a prolonged stinkface. The crowd mixed boos and cheers as Aminata shifted her weight, pressing deeper.

“Smell the royalty,” Aminata mocked, rocking side to side. “This is what a champion’s backside feels like, Queenslayer. You’re not slaying anything tonight.”

Anna Jay thrashed and finally shoved her off, gasping. She staggered up and fired a series of punches, then whipped Aminata into the corner. Anna Jay charged in with a running knee, but Aminata sidestepped and countered with a reverse hip attack, smashing her rear into Anna Jay’s face as she came in. Anna Jay’s head snapped back. Aminata kept the pressure, trapping her in the corner and delivering three more rapid hip thrusts, each one louder than the last, her powerful glutes driving hard into Anna Jay’s chest and face.

“You like that? Keep coming,” Aminata yelled. “My hips don’t lie, and they don’t miss.”

Anna Jay fought free with an uppercut, then rolled Aminata into a small package for a near fall. One. Two. Kickout. Anna Jay cursed under her breath. “Stay down, you overhyped indie queen. This is AEW. I’m the star of the show.”

Aminata sat up and laughed. “Star of the show? More like background extra. I’ve been grinding while you played sidekick in every group that would take you.”

The pace picked up. Anna Jay hit a snapmare and followed with a running kick to the back. She tried for her signature sleeper, wrapping her arms around Aminata’s neck from behind. Aminata struggled, then dropped her weight and drove her rear backward into Anna Jay’s midsection repeatedly, breaking the hold with a series of powerful ass bumps. Anna Jay stumbled away. Aminata pursued, grabbed her by the hair, and forced her face-first into the mat before sitting down hard again in another stinkface, this time longer, twisting and pressing until Anna Jay’s arms flailed.

“Taste defeat already,” Aminata said, voice low and mocking. “Your little pink outfit can’t save you from this.”

Anna Jay finally escaped by biting at Aminata’s leg, rolling free, and hitting a low dropkick to the knees. She climbed the ropes and launched a missile dropkick that floored Aminata. Anna Jay then dragged her to the center and mounted a series of ground and pound punches. When Aminata tried to rise, Anna Jay spun her around and delivered a hard hip attack of her own, slamming her rear into Aminata’s chest. The impact echoed. Anna Jay followed with another, then a third, grinding her hips deliberately.

“Two can play that game,” Anna Jay taunted, standing over her. “You think you’re the only one with power back there? Feel mine. Georgia girl hits just as hard.”

Aminata rolled away, but Anna Jay chased and hit a rolling cutter for a two count. Kickout. The crowd was fully invested now. Aminata answered with a series of headbutts, the signature hard ones that had become her trademark. One connected clean to Anna Jay’s forehead, sending her reeling. Aminata then whipped her into the ropes and met her with a running hip attack that nearly knocked Anna Jay over the top rope. Anna Jay held on, but Aminata pulled her back in and delivered a brutal sitting powerbomb, landing with her full weight.

Anna Jay kicked out at two and a half. Aminata shook her head. “You’re tougher than the average, I’ll give you that. But toughness doesn’t make you a queen.”

“And a couple of indie titles don’t make you ready for this level,” Anna Jay shot back, blood starting to show from the headbutts. “I’ve faced the best. You’re still climbing.”

They traded chops in the center, the sound cracking through the arena. Anna Jay gained the edge with a sudden low blow that the referee missed, then quickly covered it with a kick to the gut. She set up for the Queenslayer, the swinging cutter that had finished so many. Aminata saw it coming, ducked under, and caught Anna Jay with a massive hip attack from behind, the force sending Anna Jay face-first into the mat. Aminata immediately followed by dropping into another extended stinkface, this time holding Anna Jay’s arms down so she couldn’t escape, grinding her rear relentlessly while the crowd reacted loudly.

“This is what happens when you disrespect the Queen,” Aminata said, pressing harder. “Your face belongs right here.”

Anna Jay finally powered up and threw Aminata off with a burst of strength. She hit a clothesline, then a running knee in the corner. Climbing to the top, Anna Jay leaped for a diving crossbody, but Aminata caught her and turned it into a powerslam. Both women were down. The referee checked on them as the crowd counted along.

Aminata rose first. She pulled Anna Jay up and delivered a series of stiff strikes, then spun her around for another hip attack, this one so hard that Anna Jay crumpled. Aminata climbed to the top rope, the crowd rising with her. She launched into a high-angle senton bomb that crashed down across Anna Jay’s body. Cover. One. Two. Anna Jay kicked out with pure will.

Anna Jay rolled to the ropes for a breather. “Not today. Not to you.”

Aminata stalked over. “You keep saying that. Keep kicking out. It only makes the end sweeter.”

Anna Jay surprised her with a sudden roll-up. One. Two. Kickout. She followed with a superkick that staggered Aminata. Anna Jay then hit her own version of a hip attack, spinning and driving her rear into Aminata’s face in the corner, then grinding it there while talking trash.

“How’s that for a Georgia welcome?” Anna Jay mocked. “You’re not the only one who can use this weapon. Feel it. Own it.”

Aminata shoved her away and fired back with a pair of her own rapid hip thrusts, the two women now trading ass attacks in the corner, each one landing with force as the crowd ate it up. Hip for hip, rear for rear, neither giving an inch. Anna Jay finally broke the exchange with an elbow and went for the sleeper again. Aminata fought it, dropping repeatedly with her rear into Anna Jay’s body until the hold broke.

They staggered to the center. Anna Jay went for the Queenslayer one more time. Aminata countered by ducking and rising with a vicious headbutt that connected flush. Anna Jay’s eyes glazed. Aminata immediately followed with a running hip attack that folded her in half, then climbed the ropes once more.

This time she didn’t go for the senton. She leaped and landed in a seated position right across Anna Jay’s face again, a final crushing stinkface that she held while the referee counted the pin attempt underneath. Anna Jay’s legs kicked weakly. One. Two. Three.

The bell rang. Queen Aminata rose to her feet as the official raised her hand. She stood tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, looking down at the defeated Queenslayer. Anna Jay rolled to her side, breathing hard, the impact of all those hip attacks and the final headbutt still showing.

Aminata grabbed a microphone as the celebration music hit. “Anna Jay. You came in talking big. Queenslayer this, star of the show that. Tonight you felt what a real Queen brings. From Guinea to AEW, I take what’s mine. You fought hard. Respect. But the throne is mine.”

Anna Jay sat up slowly, wiping blood from her forehead. She looked at Aminata for a long moment, then nodded once, the mutual respect clear even after the hard-fought battle filled with trash talk and relentless power moves. The crowd cheered both women as Aminata helped Anna Jay to her feet. They shared a brief handshake before Aminata raised her arms high, the new chapter in her AEW journey officially underway after that first televised victory.

The cameras lingered on the two athletes as they exited, both marked up, both having left everything in the ring in a match defined by intensity, sharp words, and more than enough powerful hip and rear attacks to leave a lasting impression.

The arena lights dimmed under the packed Buenos Aires crowd as the big screen lit up with the first promo package. Issa Vegas strode out first in a gleaming white two-piece that clung to every curve she had built through years of CrossFit and heavy glute work. The Argentine fitness star from Misiones, already famous for her millions of Instagram followers and disciplined physique, rolled her shoulders and slapped her own thick ass cheeks hard enough for the smack to echo. The fans roared.

“Look at that soft gym girl thinking those pink straps mean anything,” Issa called out, voice sharp over the music. “I put in real hours for this body. You just pose for cameras after TV gigs. Tonight those cheeks of yours are getting worked until you beg.”

Sol Pérez answered from the opposite ramp in that bright pink set that left almost nothing to the imagination. The former weather girl turned panelist and fitness influencer, still carrying the confidence of someone who had bounced back hard after becoming a mother, strutted with her oiled skin catching every light. She spun once, giving the entire front row a full view of the round, firm ass that had been filling timelines for years.

“You talk a lot for someone who lives on filters,” Sol fired back, cupping her own heavy breasts and bouncing them once. “Those white lace things look pretty until they get yanked. I grew up competing. You grew up taking selfies. Come prove that bubble you sit on can actually take a beating.”

They met in the center of the ring. The referee barely finished the instructions before Issa lunged. She spun Sol around, pressed both palms against those pink-covered cheeks, and shoved her forward into the ropes. Sol’s ass bounced hard on the impact. Issa stayed locked on, grinding her hips forward so her own thick rear pressed tight against Sol’s while she reached around and roughly squeezed both of Sol’s breasts from behind.

“Feel that?” Issa mocked, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Sol’s chest. “These soft pillows are nothing compared to the real work I put in. Your fans online are about to watch them get handled.”

Sol shoved back with her hips, slamming her ass into Issa’s midsection and knocking the blonde off balance. She spun, grabbed Issa by the straps of the white bra, and yanked hard enough to make both breasts bounce free for a second before the material snapped back. Then Sol spun her again and delivered a hard open-handed smack across both of Issa’s cheeks, leaving a red print that stood out against the pale skin.

“Talk less,” Sol taunted, voice low and mean. “That ass of yours looks good on a bed, but in here it is just a target. Watch how a real Argentine woman uses hers.”

Sol backed up two steps, then charged. She turned at the last moment and drove her thick, oiled rear straight into Issa’s stomach in a full-force ass attack that folded the fitness model over. Issa gasped. Sol stayed pressed in, grinding side to side so the soft but powerful cheeks mashed against Issa’s torso, then reached up and pinched both of Issa’s nipples through the thin white fabric.

Issa recovered with a snarl. She grabbed Sol’s hips, spun her, and shoved her face-first into the turnbuckle. Then she stepped back, cocked her hips, and launched herself into a running ass smash that buried her own heavy cheeks against Sol’s back and the side of her face. The impact made Sol’s breasts jiggle hard against the padding. Issa held the press, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles so every inch of her rear dragged across Sol’s upper body.

“Still think your TV looks matter?” Issa laughed, reaching around to grab two big handfuls of Sol’s chest and squeeze. “These are about to get the same treatment as that fat ass of yours. Bounce for me.”

Sol pushed off the corner with a powerful reverse thrust of her hips, slamming her cheeks back into Issa’s crotch and knocking the blonde onto her ass. Sol dropped with her, straddling Issa’s face for a second and smothering her with that pink-covered rear before rolling off and dragging Issa up by the hair. She spun Issa around, locked her arms, and forced her bent over the middle rope. Then Sol lined up and started a series of hard, rhythmic hip thrusts, driving her own ass into Issa’s over and over while the crowd counted every impact.

“One. Two. Three. Keep counting, gym girl,” Sol mocked between thrusts. “Your perfect measurements look real cute getting bounced like this. Those 108 centimeters of ass are mine tonight.”

Issa suddenly reversed, grabbing the ropes and launching herself backward into a standing moonsault that landed her full rear weight across Sol’s chest and face. Both of Sol’s breasts flattened under the pressure of Issa’s thick cheeks. Issa sat up just enough to bounce twice, then reached down and roughly groped Sol’s tits while grinding.

“Taste that?” Issa taunted. “This is what real hard work feels like. Your soft influencer ass is about to get the same ride.”

They traded positions again. Sol hooked Issa’s legs, lifted, and dropped her into a powerbomb that ended with Sol sitting hard on Issa’s chest, her pink thong-covered cheeks spread across both breasts. Sol leaned forward, smothering Issa completely, then lifted just enough to slap her own ass right above Issa’s face.

“Breathe it in,” Sol laughed. “All that CrossFit and you still end up under this. Your fans online are going to replay this part forever.”

Issa bucked hard, rolling Sol off, then immediately climbed the ropes. From the second turnbuckle she jumped into a diving ass attack, landing her entire rear across Sol’s upper body and pinning both breasts flat again. She stayed seated, rolling her hips in slow circles so her cheeks dragged across Sol’s face and chest while she reached back and slapped Sol’s own exposed ass cheeks one after another.

“Soft. Soft. Soft,” Issa chanted with every slap. “That is all I feel back here. All those camera angles and your ass still folds under real pressure.”

Sol answered by locking her legs around Issa’s waist and reversing into a seated position of her own. She faced away, pressed her thick rear hard against Issa’s face, and started a full smother while reaching down to grab and jiggle both of Issa’s breasts. The blonde’s muffled protests only made Sol grind harder.

“Talk now,” Sol called out to the crowd. “Tell them how much you love that perfect bubble when it is sitting on your face. Your OnlyFans fans wish they got this close.”

Issa finally shoved free, gasping, and immediately spun into a hard spinning ass attack that caught Sol across the midsection and dropped her. Issa followed up by straddling Sol’s face again, this time facing the opposite direction so she could lean forward and plant both palms on Sol’s heavy breasts, squeezing and bouncing them while her own cheeks smothered Sol completely.

The two women rolled across the mat in a heated exchange of hip thrusts, face-sits, and breast grabs. Every time one gained the upper hand she made sure the other’s ass took the bulk of the punishment. Issa delivered a series of standing rear thrusts into Sol’s bent-over form, each impact making Sol’s cheeks ripple and her breasts swing free. Sol answered with a brutal corner splash that mashed her oiled rear into Issa’s chest so hard the blonde’s white bra straps nearly snapped.

Trash talk never stopped.

“You call that an ass?” Issa sneered after a particularly hard hip check that left Sol bent over the ropes. “Mine was built for this. Yours was built for likes.”

“Keep talking while my cheeks are printing themselves across your face,” Sol shot back after another smother. “Your husband is going to see these photos and wonder why his wife’s perfect body is getting handled like this.”

They traded more. Issa locked Sol in a standing rear-naked hold but instead of choking she simply pressed her full chest into Sol’s back while grinding her hips so both sets of cheeks stayed locked together. Sol broke free with a reverse elbow and immediately dropped to her knees, then exploded upward into a rising ass attack that caught Issa under the chin and dropped her flat.

Near the end both women were glistening with sweat, their outfits stretched and half-askew. Issa’s white lace was riding high between her cheeks. Sol’s pink straps had dug deep into the soft flesh of her hips. They met in the center one last time, both bent slightly, both breathing hard, and simply started slamming their asses together in a brutal, rhythmic contest of power. Each collision sent shockwaves through their bodies and made their breasts bounce heavily.

Issa finally got the better of the exchange. She spun Sol, forced her down onto all fours, and mounted her from behind in a full body press that put every ounce of her weight onto Sol’s back and rear. Then she reached under, grabbed both of Sol’s breasts, and squeezed while driving her hips down in slow, grinding thrusts that mashed their cheeks together.

“This is it,” Issa growled into Sol’s ear. “Your soft influencer body just lost to real work. Tap or keep getting sat on.”

Sol refused. She bridged hard, rolled, and somehow ended up on top, sitting her full weight across Issa’s chest and face again while bouncing with enough force to make both of her own breasts jump. The referee’s hand hit the mat once. Twice. On the third count Issa’s shoulders stayed down.

The bell rang. Sol Pérez stood, chest heaving, one hand still resting on the thick curve of her own ass as if to remind everyone what had done the most damage. She looked down at the blonde still catching her breath.

“Next time bring more than gym selfies,” Sol said, voice carrying across the quiet arena. “These cheeks do not play.”

Issa rolled to her side, a half-smile on her face even as she rubbed the red marks across her own rear. The crowd was still losing its mind. Two of Argentina’s most followed fitness bodies had just spent the better part of half an hour proving exactly how much punishment those famous curves could both give and take.

The arena was still buzzing from Sol Pérez’s hard-fought victory when the lights suddenly flickered. Issa Vegas had stayed in the ring after the pin, accepting the loss with a tight smile and a respectful nod. The referee raised Sol’s hand. The crowd cheered the panelist and fitness star who had just proven her body could hang with one of the most followed Argentine models online. Sol turned to the fans, both hands cupping her own heavy breasts for a celebratory bounce, then spun and slapped her pink-covered cheeks hard enough for the sound to carry.

“That is how a real woman finishes the job,” Sol called out, still breathing heavy. “Your perfect gym measurements just got sat on and counted out. Go post about it.”

Issa stepped in close as if for a post-match hug. The blonde fitness influencer from Misiones, the one who had built those thick glutes through years of CrossFit and heavy lifting, wrapped her arms around Sol’s shoulders. The crowd softened. Then Issa’s knee drove straight up into Sol’s midsection. Sol folded with a sharp gasp. Issa shoved her backward into the nearest turnbuckle and immediately spun around, driving her full white-clad ass hard into Sol’s chest and face in a brutal reverse splash that flattened both of Sol’s breasts under the impact.

“Surprise,” Issa hissed, grinding her cheeks side to side across Sol’s upper body. “You thought that little pin meant something? I let you have your moment so the cameras could catch every second of what comes next. These soft TV girl tits and that fat influencer ass are about to learn real destruction.”

Sol tried to push off the padding. Issa stayed locked in, bouncing her rear with short, vicious thrusts that mashed Sol’s breasts flat again and again. Then the blonde stepped back just far enough to grab Sol by the hair, spin her, and force her bent over the middle rope. Issa lined up and delivered a series of full-force hip thrusts, each one slamming her thick cheeks into Sol’s rear with enough power to make the entire ring shake. Sol’s pink thong rode higher with every impact. Her breasts swung freely under her as Issa kept the rhythm going.

“Count them,” Issa mocked between thrusts. “One for every like you ever got for posing in that same pink set. Two for thinking your weather-girl smile could carry you in here. Three for every time you bounced those soft cheeks online like they meant something. Keep counting while I rearrange them.”

Sol finally shoved back, spinning with a wild elbow that caught Issa across the jaw. The blonde staggered. Sol charged, looking to return the favor with an ass attack of her own, but Issa dropped to one knee at the last second. Sol flew over her and crashed hard into the opposite corner. Issa was on her instantly, grabbing both of Sol’s wrists and yanking them high up the turnbuckle posts so the pink-clad body was stretched open. Then Issa stepped in close and started a relentless series of standing rear thrusts, driving her own heavy ass into Sol’s exposed midsection and underbust over and over while the crowd erupted.

“Look at these,” Issa laughed, reaching around to grab two big handfuls of Sol’s breasts and bounce them hard while still thrusting. “All that post-baby recovery and they still fold under real pressure. Your husband is going to see the marks I leave on these soft pillows.”

Sol kicked backward, catching Issa in the thigh and forcing space. She spun free, grabbed Issa by the white straps, and yanked hard enough to make both of the blonde’s breasts bounce free for a moment. Sol tried to follow with a running hip attack, but Issa caught her mid-charge, lifted her with raw strength, and dropped her face-first across the top rope. Then Issa climbed to the second turnbuckle, turned her back to the ring, and launched herself into a devastating diving ass smash that landed her full rear weight across Sol’s upper back and the side of her face. Both of Sol’s breasts were crushed against the mat under the added pressure of Issa’s body.

Issa stayed seated, rolling her hips in slow, punishing circles so every inch of her thick cheeks dragged across Sol’s shoulders and the back of her head. She reached down, slipped both hands under Sol’s chest, and roughly groped and squeezed the soft flesh while grinding.

“Still breathing?” Issa taunted. “Good. I want you awake for every second of this. That perfect bubble you built for Instagram is about to get worked until it cannot even sit right. These soft TV tits are next.”

Sol bucked hard, managing to roll Issa off. The two women scrambled to their feet only for Issa to immediately catch Sol with a spinning rear kick that sent her stumbling into the ropes again. Issa charged, turned at the last second, and drove her ass into Sol’s stomach with a full-force reverse splash that folded the darker-haired woman in half. Issa held the press, bouncing twice, then spun around so she was face-to-face with Sol while still pressing her rear into the other woman’s midsection. She grabbed both of Sol’s breasts, mashed them together, and squeezed while speaking right into her face.

“You talked so much about real competition,” Issa said, voice low and mean. “This is real. Your soft body just got backstabbed in front of everyone who ever liked your gym selfies. Now take it.”

Issa shoved Sol down onto her back, straddled her chest, and dropped her full weight so those thick white-covered cheeks completely smothered Sol’s face and upper chest. She bounced hard, once, twice, three times, each impact forcing Sol’s breasts to jiggle under the pressure. Then Issa leaned forward, planted both palms on Sol’s own cheeks, and started a slow, grinding smother while simultaneously groping and spreading the pink-covered ass beneath her hands.

“Smell that?” Issa mocked. “That is the scent of a woman who actually trains for power. Your influencer ass is soft compared to this. Keep trying to breathe while I sit here and decide which of these soft cheeks gets the next beating.”

Sol managed to bridge and roll, but Issa was already moving with her. The blonde grabbed Sol’s ankles, dragged her to the center of the ring, and locked in a modified Boston crab that forced Sol’s hips high off the mat. Instead of pure back pressure, Issa leaned all her weight forward so her own heavy rear pressed down across Sol’s lower back and the top of her cheeks. She bounced in short, vicious bursts while reaching around to roughly squeeze and bounce both of Sol’s dangling breasts.

“Feel how heavy this is?” Issa called out to the crowd. “This is what real glute work feels like when it is destroying you. Your soft post-pregnancy body cannot handle it. Tap before I decide these soft tits need the same treatment as that fat ass.”

Sol refused to tap. She clawed at the mat, face twisted. Issa released the hold only to immediately drop into another full smother, this time facing the opposite direction so she could lean down and plant open-handed smacks across both of Sol’s exposed ass cheeks while her own rear completely covered Sol’s face. The smacks rang out loud. Red prints bloomed across the darker skin.

“One. Two. Three. Four,” Issa counted with each slap. “Keep those soft cheeks high for me. Your fans online are going to replay every single impact. This is what happens when you beat a real worker and then turn your back.”

Sol finally exploded upward with a burst of strength, throwing Issa off and scrambling to her feet. She looked wrecked. Makeup smeared. Pink straps twisted. Breasts heaving. Ass marked with clear handprints. She charged with pure anger, looking to return every ounce of punishment. Issa sidestepped at the last moment, caught Sol around the waist, and hoisted her into a powerbomb position. Instead of a clean drop, Issa sat down hard so Sol’s upper body crashed across her thick thighs while Issa’s own rear absorbed the landing. Then Issa immediately rolled forward into a seated position on Sol’s chest again, smothering her completely while bouncing with short, destructive thrusts.

“Stay down,” Issa ordered, voice cold. “You had your little win. Now you get the real ending. These soft influencer curves just got owned by someone who actually earned every centimeter. Your ass. Your tits. All of it.”

Issa rose just long enough to drag Sol up by the hair, force her bent over the ropes once more, and deliver one final, vicious series of full-power hip thrusts. Each collision sent Sol’s breasts swinging hard and made her cheeks ripple under the impact. On the tenth thrust Issa held the press, grinding deep, then spun Sol around and dropped her with a hard clothesline that left the darker-haired woman flat on her back.

Issa did not go for a pin. She simply sat down hard across Sol’s chest and face again, smothering her completely while reaching back to slap and spread Sol’s marked ass cheeks for the cameras. She stayed there, bouncing slowly, groping Sol’s breasts with both hands, and speaking loud enough for every microphone to catch.

“This is the real result,” Issa announced. “You can keep your little pinfall. I keep the destruction. Every soft curve on your body just got worked over by someone who trains harder and hits harder. Go post about your win. The internet is going to remember who was still sitting on top when the lights went out.”

Sol lay limp beneath her, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps under the heavy weight of Issa’s thick, powerful rear. The referee never made a count. The match had already been decided the first time. What the crowd was watching now was pure, deliberate payback. Issa Vegas, the CrossFit-built Argentine fitness star, had waited for the perfect moment, backstabbed the victory celebration, and proceeded to systematically destroy every soft, camera-ready curve Sol Pérez had ever shown online. The blonde stayed seated, grinding, slapping, and groping until the officials finally pulled her off and the house lights rose on a thoroughly wrecked Sol still trying to catch her breath in the center of the ring.

Sydney Sweeney stood in the center of the dimly lit arena, the crowd already roaring as the lights focused on her. She wore the exact dark blue lingerie. A plunging lace bra that barely contained her full, heavy breasts, the thin straps digging into her shoulders, a tiny matching thong that disappeared between the cheeks of her round, firm ass, and black lace stockings that clung to her long legs. Her light brown hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders. A delicate necklace rested in the deep valley of her cleavage. She rolled her shoulders, making those massive tits bounce heavily, then turned slightly so the audience got a clear view of her thick, juicy ass cheeks flexing under the thin fabric.

Across from her, Scarlett Johansson stepped through the ropes. She was in the colorful blue and yellow patterned bikini . The triangle top struggling to hold her full breasts, the yellow ties at her neck and back looking ready to snap. The bottoms sat low on her hips, the side ties loose, her pale skin already glistening under the lights. Dark sunglasses still sat on her face until she yanked them off and tossed them aside. Her blonde hair was pulled back messily. She put her hands on her hips, pushing her chest out.

The referee called for the bell.

Sydney smirked, voice smooth and mocking. “Look at you, Scarlett. Trying to play tough in that little bikini. Those tits of yours are already spilling out. Hope they can take a beating.”

Scarlett shot back, “You’re one to talk, Sydney. Walking out here looking like a paid escort. Those fake looking melons of yours are going to get smashed flat.”

Sydney laughed, the sound rich and mean. “Fake? These are all natural, baby. And they’re about to smother you.”

They circled. Sydney moved first, lunging in and grabbing Scarlett by the wrists. She yanked the older actress forward and slammed her own chest hard into Scarlett’s, the impact making both pairs of breasts bounce and crush together. Sydney ground her heavy tits against Scarlett’s, rubbing them in slow circles while locking her arms.

“Feel that?” Sydney taunted, voice low and close. “My tits are bigger, softer, and stronger. Yours feel soft and weak already.”

Scarlett grunted, trying to push back, but Sydney spun her around and pressed her from behind. She reached around and cupped Scarlett’s breasts through the thin bikini top, squeezing hard, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. Scarlett’s nipples hardened under the pressure.

“Nice handfuls,” Sydney mocked, “but nothing compared to mine. Watch.”

She released one hand, grabbed her own left breast, and slapped it across the side of Scarlett’s face. The heavy soft flesh smacked wetly against Scarlett’s cheek. Then the right one. Slap. Slap. Sydney used both tits like weapons, swinging them into Scarlett’s face over and over, the skin-on-skin sound echoing.

“Eat it,” Sydney ordered. “Open that mouth.”

Scarlett tried to turn her head, but Sydney grabbed her hair and forced her face deep between her cleavage. She squeezed her arms together, burying Scarlett’s entire face in the warm, soft valley of her breasts. Scarlett’s muffled protests vibrated against Sydney’s skin.

“Breathe through your nose if you can,” Sydney laughed. “My tits are your new oxygen tank.”

She held the smother for a long count, rocking her chest side to side so Scarlett’s face slid between the heavy globes. When she finally released, Scarlett gasped, face red, lipstick smeared across Sydney’s cleavage.

Sydney spun her again and bent Scarlett forward over the top rope. She yanked the bikini bottoms down just enough to expose Scarlett’s pale, round ass. Without warning she brought her open palm down hard.

Crack.

“That’s for talking shit,” Sydney said.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

She spanked Scarlett’s ass cheeks rapidly, watching them jiggle and turn pink. Then she pressed her own body against Scarlett’s backside, grinding her thong-covered crotch against the older woman’s exposed cheeks while reaching around to maul Scarlett’s breasts again.

“Your ass is soft,” Sydney taunted. “Mine is tighter and stronger. Feel the difference.”

She stepped back, turned, and backed her own thick ass into Scarlett’s face. The blue thong disappeared between her cheeks as she pushed backward, smothering Scarlett’s face between the firm, warm globes. Sydney reached back, grabbed Scarlett’s head, and ground her ass in circles.

“Lick it,” she ordered. “Show everyone how much you love my ass.”

Scarlett’s muffled complaints only made Sydney grind harder. She flexed her glutes, trapping Scarlett’s nose and mouth deeper. When she finally pulled away, a shiny trail of spit connected Scarlett’s lips to Sydney’s thong.

Sydney grabbed Scarlett by the hair and dragged her to the center of the ring. She dropped to her back and pulled Scarlett on top of her in a reverse position, then wrapped her legs around Scarlett’s head and locked in a scissors hold while her own face ended up between Scarlett’s thighs. But instead of focusing on the legs, Sydney reached up, yanked Scarlett’s bikini top aside, and buried her face between the freed breasts, sucking and biting the soft flesh while squeezing both tits hard.

Scarlett tried to punch at Sydney’s thighs, but the scissors tightened. Sydney released the breasts only long enough to slap them left and right, making them bounce and redden.

“These things are just decoration,” Sydney mocked between bites. “Mine actually do damage.”

She reversed the position with a sudden roll, ending up on top. Now she straddled Scarlett’s chest, her heavy blue-clad breasts hanging directly over Scarlett’s face. Sydney lowered herself until her tits completely covered Scarlett’s head, then bounced her entire upper body up and down, using her breasts like soft, heavy clubs.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Say it,” Sydney demanded. “Say my tits are better.”

Scarlett’s voice came out muffled and strained. “Fuck you…”

Sydney laughed and pressed harder, rocking side to side so one breast then the other completely blocked Scarlett’s airways. She reached behind herself, grabbed Scarlett’s wrists, and pinned them to the mat while continuing the breast smother.

After a long moment she lifted just enough for Scarlett to gasp. “Last chance. Admit it.”

Scarlett’s eyes watered. “Your… tits… are bigger…”

“And better,” Sydney corrected, slamming her chest down again.

“And better!”

Sydney sat up, still straddling Scarlett’s torso, and started dry humping her, grinding her panty-covered crotch against Scarlett’s stomach while her breasts bounced heavily with every movement. She reached down and tore Scarlett’s bikini top completely off, tossing it into the crowd. Then she leaned forward and mashed her own still-covered breasts against Scarlett’s bare ones, rubbing nipple against nipple through the lace.

“Look at the difference,” she taunted. “Yours are already marked up. Mine are still perfect.”

She stood, hauled Scarlett to her feet, and shoved her face-first into the turnbuckle. Sydney pressed her body flush against Scarlett’s back, reached around, and began aggressively groping both of Scarlett’s bare breasts, pulling and twisting the nipples while grinding her own crotch against Scarlett’s ass.

“You came in here thinking you still had it,” Sydney whispered hotly against Scarlett’s ear. “But you’re just soft Hollywood leftovers. I’m the one with the real power now.”

She spun Scarlett around, dropped to one knee, and drove her shoulder hard into Scarlett’s midsection, then stood while lifting. As Scarlett’s body rose, Sydney intentionally shoved her face deep between her own breasts again, holding the position in a modified powerbomb setup. She walked around the ring with Scarlett’s head trapped in her cleavage, the crowd chanting.

Finally she slammed Scarlett down, but kept her own body draped over her, tits smothering the face once more. Sydney sat up just enough to start bouncing her ass on Scarlett’s stomach, then shifted higher so her thick cheeks were planted firmly on Scarlett’s face.

“Smell that,” Sydney ordered, grinding slowly. “That’s the ass of a real woman. Yours is just padding.”

She stayed there for a long time, flexing and releasing, forcing Scarlett to breathe nothing but the scent of her skin and the thin fabric of the thong. When she finally stood, Scarlett’s face was flushed deep red, makeup ruined, eyes glassy.

Sydney wasn’t finished. She pulled Scarlett up again, bent her over the middle rope, and began a series of hard, deliberate ass-to-ass impacts. She backed up and slammed her own firm cheeks into Scarlett’s softer ones over and over, the clapping sound loud and wet. Between each impact she reached under and groped Scarlett’s hanging breasts, squeezing them like stress balls.

“Your whole body is weak,” Sydney mocked between impacts. “Tits, ass, everything. I’m going to leave you looking like a used toy.”

She flipped Scarlett onto her back once more and dropped into a full body press, her heavy breasts crushing down onto Scarlett’s face and chest at the same time. Sydney rolled her torso side to side, using the soft mass of her tits to grind Scarlett’s features. One hand reached down and yanked Scarlett’s bikini bottoms completely off, leaving her naked from the waist down. Sydney’s other hand slapped Scarlett’s exposed pussy lightly, then harder, while her breasts continued the smother.

“This is what happens when you talk shit to someone younger and better built,” Sydney said, voice calm and cruel. “You get destroyed.”

She rose into a seated position on Scarlett’s chest again, this time facing the other way so her ass was directly over Scarlett’s face while she looked toward the crowd. Sydney bounced slowly at first, then faster, her cheeks spreading and closing around Scarlett’s nose and mouth. She reached back with both hands and pulled her own ass cheeks apart, forcing Scarlett’s face deeper into the warm cleft.

“Tongue out,” she commanded. “Clean it.”

When Scarlett hesitated, Sydney dropped her full weight. The crowd howled. Sydney stayed planted, grinding in tight circles, using her powerful glutes to control every breath Scarlett took.

After what felt like forever she finally stood. Scarlett lay limp, gasping, body covered in red marks from the constant groping and slapping. Her breasts were swollen and marked with fingerprints. Her ass cheeks glowed bright pink.

Sydney stood over her, still in the dark blue lingerie, chest heaving just enough to make her tits rise and fall dramatically. She placed one high-heeled foot lightly on Scarlett’s stomach and looked down.

“Tap out,” she said coldly. “Or I put my tits back on your face until you pass out for real.”

Scarlett’s hand weakly slapped the mat three times.

Sydney smiled, the expression pure satisfaction. She dropped to her knees beside Scarlett’s head, grabbed both of her own breasts, and lowered them one last time, pressing the soft heavy flesh over Scarlett’s mouth and nose in a final, lingering smother while the referee counted the pin.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang. The crowd exploded.

Sydney stayed in position a few extra seconds, enjoying the feel of Scarlett’s defeated face trapped between her breasts. Then she slowly stood, leaving Scarlett lying naked and marked in the center of the ring. She turned to the audience, raised both arms, and gave her chest a deliberate bounce that made her tits jiggle heavily under the lace.

“Who’s next?” she called out, voice clear and mocking. “Anyone else want to get smothered and spanked into retirement?”

She walked to the ropes, climbed out, and left Scarlett alone under the bright lights, the older actress’s body still twitching slightly from the long, thorough humiliation. Sydney never looked back.

The arena lights hit the entrance ramp as the crowd roared. Mercedes Moné stood at the top, championship belt over her shoulder, blue-and-black hair shining under the spots. She wore the same purple-and-silver gear from the photo: studded top, fishnet panels, fur-trimmed jacket, tight shorts that hugged every curve. She strutted down the ramp, hips rolling, one hand on the belt, the other waving the jacket open so the crowd could see the full shape of her chest and the way the fabric stretched across her ass.

Julia Hart waited in the ring. Long blonde waves, black shiny top with the crossed-swords design, fishnet sleeves, leather bottoms. She rolled her shoulders and tried to look confident, but her eyes flicked to Mercedes’ body and stayed there a second too long.

Mercedes climbed through the ropes, dropped the jacket to the apron, and held the belt high.

“Look at you,” she said, voice low and sharp so the mics caught every word. “Little blonde doll thinking she belongs in the same ring as the CEO. That top is cute. Those tits look soft. That ass looks like it has never been worked a day in its life. Tonight I am going to break every piece of you and keep what is left as my personal toy.”

Julia stepped forward. “You talk a lot for someone who still has to prove it. I am not scared of you.”

Mercedes laughed, short and mean. “You should be.”

The bell rang.

Mercedes closed the distance in two steps and slapped Julia across the face hard enough to snap her head sideways. Before Julia could recover, Mercedes spun her around, locked both arms, and drove a knee into the small of her back. Julia’s hips popped forward. Mercedes kept the hold and pressed her own chest tight against Julia’s back, rubbing her breasts up and down while she spoke into her ear.

“Feel that? Those are real. Yours look pretty, but they are about to get abused.”

She shoved Julia into the ropes, then yanked her back by the hair and slammed her face-first into the turnbuckle. Mercedes stepped in behind her, grabbed both of Julia’s wrists, and forced them high on the pad so Julia’s chest was mashed flat against the buckle. Then Mercedes pressed her own body flush, grinding her tits hard into Julia’s bare back while she rolled her hips and slapped Julia’s ass once, twice, three times with an open palm. Each slap left a red mark and made Julia’s cheeks bounce.

“Soft,” Mercedes said. “So soft. I am going to bounce these all night.”

She spun Julia around, grabbed both of her breasts through the shiny top, and squeezed. Julia gasped. Mercedes pinched the nipples through the fabric, twisted, then yanked the top down just enough so the top half of Julia’s tits spilled out. She shoved her face between them, motorboated once, then bit the soft underside of the left one hard enough to leave a mark.

Julia tried to shove her off. Mercedes caught the wrists again, forced them behind Julia’s back, and drove a knee straight up between her legs. The impact lifted Julia onto her toes. Mercedes kept the knee pressed there while she leaned in and whispered, “That is for looking at my ass on the way to the ring. You stared. Now you pay.”

She dragged Julia to the center of the mat, dropped to one knee, and forced Julia over her other knee in a classic spanking position. The fishnet and leather shorts stretched tight. Mercedes peeled the shorts down just far enough to bare both cheeks, then started a steady rhythm of open-hand smacks. Left cheek, right cheek, both at once. The sound cracked through the arena. Julia’s ass turned bright pink. Mercedes paused only to dig her fingers into the soft flesh, spread the cheeks, and slap the insides.

“These are mine tonight,” she said. “Every bounce, every jiggle, every time they turn red. You are going to walk out of here with my handprints.”

Julia kicked and cursed. Mercedes answered by sliding one hand under Julia’s body and grabbing a handful of her right breast, squeezing in time with every spank. The dual assault made Julia’s voice crack.

Mercedes finally dumped her onto the mat, stood up, and planted both boots on either side of Julia’s head. She turned around, bent at the waist, and lowered her own purple-covered ass until it rested fully on Julia’s face. She sat there, rolling her hips in slow circles, grinding her cheeks over Julia’s mouth and nose.

“Breathe through it, toy. This is what you get for talking back.”

She stayed seated for a full ten-count, then stood, spun, and dropped into a sitting position on Julia’s stomach, knees pinned to the mat. From there she leaned forward, grabbed Julia’s tits again, and started a rapid series of breast slaps. Left, right, both hands cupping and lifting then releasing so they bounced hard. She mashed them together, motorboated again, then leaned down and sucked hard on one nipple through the fabric until the material was wet and transparent.

Julia bucked. Mercedes rode the movement, still sitting on her, still mauling her chest.

“You feel that? That is ownership. Your body is just a toy set for the CEO.”

She stood, pulled Julia up by the hair, and whipped her into the corner. Mercedes charged in with a running body splash, full chest and stomach slamming into Julia’s, pinning her hard against the turnbuckles. She stayed there, grinding, rolling her tits against Julia’s, then dropped to her knees and drove her face straight into Julia’s crotch, rubbing her mouth and chin hard against the leather. When she stood again she spun Julia around, grabbed both ass cheeks with both hands, and spread them wide while pressing her own covered crotch against the seam.

“Look at this. Perfect little ass just waiting to be used.”

Mercedes locked in a rear waist lock, lifted Julia off her feet, and dropped her face-first into a powerbomb that bounced her tits hard against the mat. Before Julia could roll away, Mercedes was on her again, mounting her from behind in a full mount. She reached under, cupped both of Julia’s breasts, and used them as handles while she dry-humped against Julia’s ass in long, deliberate strokes. Every thrust made Julia’s chest bounce in Mercedes’ hands.

“Say it,” Mercedes ordered. “Say you are my toy.”

Julia shook her head. Mercedes answered with a sharp slap to the side of one breast, then the other, then a hard pinch to both nipples at once.

“Say it or I keep going until you cannot walk.”

“I am your toy,” Julia finally gasped.

Mercedes smiled, cruel and satisfied. She flipped Julia onto her back, straddled her chest, and lowered her own tits directly onto Julia’s face. She smothered her, rolling side to side so first one breast then the other covered Julia’s mouth and nose. She stayed there, grinding, while her hands reached back and continued to slap and squeeze Julia’s still-exposed ass.

After a long thirty seconds she sat up, still straddling, and began a slow strip of the remaining fabric from Julia’s top. The shiny material came off. Julia’s bare tits were fully out. Mercedes took both in her hands, pushed them together, and motorboated hard. Then she leaned down and bit the soft flesh just above the left nipple, hard enough to leave a clear mark. She did the same on the right side.

“Marks of ownership,” she said. “Everyone will see who you belong to.”

She stood, pulled Julia up one last time, and locked in a rear naked choke while pressing her own body flush against Julia’s back. One arm under Julia’s tits, lifting and squeezing them while the other arm cut off the air. Mercedes walked her around the ring like that, displaying the blonde to every side of the arena, bouncing Julia’s breasts with every step, slapping her ass between steps.

Finally she dumped Julia in the center of the mat, draped one leg over her, and pinned both shoulders. The referee counted three.

Mercedes did not get up right away. She stayed on top, still grinding, still holding both of Julia’s tits, still speaking into her ear.

“You are done. You are my toy now. Next time I call, you show up, you strip, and you take whatever I give that ass and those tits. Understood?”

Julia, breath ragged, eyes glassy, managed a weak nod.

Mercedes stayed right where she was, full weight settled on Julia’s face, purple-covered ass cheeks spreading wide across her mouth and nose. She rolled her hips in slow, heavy circles, grinding down harder each time Julia tried to turn her head. The crowd noise rose, but Mercedes ignored it. She reached out toward the ring apron. A ringside attendant hesitated, then passed her a handheld microphone.

She brought the mic to her lips without lifting an inch off Julia’s face.

“Listen up, everybody. Look at this pretty little blonde under me. Julia Hart. Came in here talking tough, chest stuck out, thinking those soft tits and that tight little ass meant something. Look at her now.”

She bounced once, hard, driving her ass down so Julia’s face disappeared completely between the cheeks. Mercedes held the pressure for a long five-count, then eased up just enough to let Julia gasp.

“That’s right. Breathe when I let you. This is your place now. Face deep in the CEO’s ass. You feel that? Every inch of these cheeks is working you. Soft, heavy, and owning you.”

Mercedes leaned forward a little, still seated, and reached down with her free hand. She grabbed both of Julia’s bare breasts, squeezed them together, and started bouncing them in time with the grinding of her hips.

“These tits are mine too. Soft. Easy to mark. Easy to use. I already left my teeth on them. Everyone can see. And this ass of yours?” She shifted her weight, freed one hand long enough to reach back and deliver three sharp, open-handed smacks to Julia’s still-exposed cheeks. The sound cracked through the speakers. “Red. Swollen. Handprint property of Mercedes Moné.”

Julia’s muffled sounds vibrated against Mercedes’ skin. Mercedes laughed into the mic.

“What’s that, toy? You trying to say something? Speak up. Louder. Or maybe you just like the taste of my ass so much you forgot how to talk.”

She ground harder, rolling side to side so first one cheek then the other smothered Julia completely. Her free hand kept working Julia’s breasts—squeezing, lifting, releasing so they slapped together, then pinching both nipples at once and twisting.

“You stared at my body on the way to the ring. I saw it. Those eyes on my chest, on my hips, on this ass. So I decided to give you the full experience. Up close. No air. No choice. Just my cheeks on your face until you understand exactly what you are.”

Mercedes lifted an inch, let Julia suck in a desperate breath, then dropped her full weight again.

“Say it into the mic. Say you’re my toy. Say these tits and this ass belong to the CEO. Say you came in here thinking you were a wrestler and you’re leaving as a personal plaything.”

She pressed the mic down near Julia’s mouth, still keeping most of her weight on her face. Julia’s voice came out broken and muffled.

“I’m… your toy…”

Mercedes smiled, cold and satisfied. She bounced twice more, hard, making sure Julia felt every jiggle.

“Louder. And add the rest.”

“These tits… this ass… belong to Mercedes Moné… I’m just a toy…”

Mercedes pulled the mic back to her own mouth.

“That’s right. Good toy. Remember this feeling. My ass on your face. My hands on your chest. My marks on your skin. Next time I call, you show up already stripped and ready. No talking back. No resistance. Just open legs, open mouth, and whatever hole I decide to use.”

She stayed seated another long moment, grinding in lazy circles while the crowd watched, then finally rose just enough to let Julia breathe. She kept one boot planted beside Julia’s head and looked down at the ruined blonde—top gone, shorts half off, ass glowing, breasts covered in red handprints and bite marks.

“Stay down, toy. The CEO is done with you for now.”

Mercedes tossed the mic aside, collected her belt and jacket, and walked up the ramp with the same slow, rolling strut she had used on the way in. Julia remained flat on the mat, chest heaving, face still shiny from the time spent under Mercedes’ ass, already knowing the next time the CEO called she would answer.

The arena lights blazed down on the TNA ring as the crowd roared in anticipation. Indi Hartwell, the Impressive Australian from Melbourne, stood tall at 5'9" in her sparkling purple gear, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail with braided strands framing her face. She had come a long way from the Australian independents, capturing titles in RCW and WSW before conquering NXT as Women's Champion and tag team gold with Candice LeRae in The Way. Now in TNA, she carried that same swagger.

Opposite her, Xia Brookside, the 5'3" firecracker from Liverpool, England, daughter of wrestling legend Robbie Brookside, bounced on her toes in black and silver. The former NXT UK standout and Stardom Club Venus member had built her reputation with speed, heart, and that signature Brooksy Bomb. She smirked across the ring, hands on her hips.

The referee called for the bell.

Xia darted forward first, firing off quick punches to Indi's midsection. "Come on then, Aussie giant! You think that height means anything? I've put bigger girls on their backs!"

Indi blocked a third punch and shoved Xia back. "Talk all you want, short stuff. I've been through The Way, won the NXT title in a ladder match, and still have more fight than your whole family tree."

Xia laughed and charged again, ducking under a big boot. She spun around and drove her hips hard into Indi's stomach with a stiff hip attack. The impact made Indi grunt and stumble. Xia followed up by spinning and ramming her backside into Indi's side again, using her compact frame for maximum force.

"Feel that? That's pure British power right in your gut!" Xia taunted, grinding her rear against Indi for a second longer before bouncing away.

Indi recovered fast, grabbing Xia by the hair and yanking her in. "Cute. Now taste this." She whipped Xia into the ropes and met her with a thunderous big boot that sent the smaller woman flying. As Xia rolled to her knees, Indi strutted over, turned, and dropped her full weight onto Xia's back with a heavy seated senton, her purple-clad rear smacking down hard.

The crowd reacted loud. Indi stayed seated for a moment, bouncing slightly to drive it in. "How's the view from down there, Xia? Bet your dad never taught you how to handle a real woman's backside."

Xia gritted her teeth and rolled Indi off. She scrambled up and leaped onto Indi's back in a rear naked choke attempt, wrapping her legs around. Indi powered up and slammed her backward, but Xia held on. Indi then drove her hips back repeatedly, thrusting her rear into Xia's midsection to break the hold.

"Get off me, you little pest!" Indi barked.

Xia finally released and dropped to the mat, only for Indi to turn and sit right down on her chest, pinning her shoulders with her thighs while grinding her hips. "Stay down and take it. This is what happens when you run your mouth."

Xia bridged hard and shoved Indi off. She jumped to her feet and delivered a running dropkick, then followed by spinning and driving her rear end into Indi's face with a spinning hip attack. Indi fell back against the ropes. Xia charged again, leaping and smashing her backside into Indi's midsection in a cannonball-style hip assault.

"That's for mocking my family!" Xia yelled. "Robbie Brookside raised a fighter, not a pushover like you!"

Indi grabbed the ropes for support. "Your daddy's a trainer. I'm the one who actually won championships on the biggest stages. Keep talking while I rearrange that pretty little face."

She charged and hit a swinging sidewalk slam, then immediately sat down hard on Xia's stomach, bouncing twice for emphasis. Indi leaned forward, pressing her rear firmly against Xia's torso. "Feel that weight? That's championship quality, baby."

Xia bucked her off and rolled to the corner. Indi pursued, but Xia leaped up and met her with a tilt-a-whirl headscissors that sent Indi crashing down. Xia then climbed the second rope and leaped off with a diving crossbody. As they hit the mat, Xia rolled through and sat right on Indi's face, pressing her black shorts down firmly while looking back with a smirk.

"Breathe it in, Hartwell! This is the only gold you'll be smelling tonight!"

The referee started counting, but Indi powered up, lifting Xia with pure strength and dumping her with a flapjack. Indi immediately followed by turning and dropping a heavy rear into Xia's midsection again, a full seated splash that made the mat bounce.

"You like sitting on people so much? Try this!" Indi mocked. She pulled Xia up, Irish whipped her into the corner, and charged in with a running hip attack of her own, slamming her purple-clad rear into Xia's exposed stomach. She repeated it twice more, each impact louder than the last.

Xia crumpled. Indi dragged her to the center and locked in a hammerlock, then spun into a DDT. As Xia lay dazed, Indi climbed to the second rope, turned, and leaped off into a springboard seated senton, her full backside crashing down onto Xia's chest.

"Impressive, right?" Indi shouted to the crowd, using her old NXT nickname. "That's what they call me for a reason!"

Xia kicked out at two. She rolled away and up to her feet, firing off a series of kicks. She ducked a clothesline and hit a snap German suplex. While Indi was down, Xia mounted her in a reverse position and drove her hips down repeatedly, grinding her rear into the small of Indi's back.

"Still think you're better? Look at you taking my hips like a jobber!" Xia taunted, bouncing harder.

Indi reached back, grabbed Xia's hair, and pulled her over into a reverse roll-up for a near fall. Xia kicked out and scrambled up. She went for her Broken Wings double knee backbreaker, but Indi countered by shoving her into the ropes. Xia rebounded and Indi met her with another massive big boot.

This time Indi scooped Xia up in a fireman's carry, then dumped her forward into a flapjack. Before Xia could recover, Indi spun around and sat down heavily on her face again, this time pressing down with both hands on the mat for leverage while grinding side to side.

"Taste the purple, Brookside! Tell me how Aussie booty tastes!"

Xia flailed and finally pushed free. She crawled to the ropes and pulled herself up. Indi charged, but Xia ducked and hit a running split-legged yakuza kick. She then leaped onto the top rope and came off with a diving dropkick that sent Indi crashing to the outside.

Xia followed out, whipping Indi into the barricade. She climbed onto the apron and leaped off with a diving crossbody that took both women to the floor. On the concrete, Xia rolled Indi onto her stomach and sat down hard on her lower back, bouncing with full force.

"This is for every time you looked down on me!" Xia yelled. "Height means nothing when I can crush you with this!"

Indi powered up despite the pressure, standing with Xia still on her back. She ran backward and slammed Xia into the ring post, the impact of Xia's rear against the steel making the smaller woman cry out. Indi dumped her onto the apron, then rolled back into the ring.

Xia followed slowly. Indi waited and hit a short clothesline, then another. She scooped Xia up for a delayed vertical suplex, holding her high before slamming her down. Indi immediately followed with a running hip attack in the corner, driving her rear into Xia repeatedly.

"You talk about family? I built my name myself from Melbourne to NXT to here. You're still riding coattails!" Indi mocked between impacts.

Xia fought back with a jawbreaker, then a jumping neckbreaker. She went for the Brooksy Bomb, climbing the ropes with Indi in tow for the flipping slam. Indi blocked it, shoving Xia off the top. Xia landed on her feet and charged, but Indi caught her with a spinebuster.

Indi covered for a two count. She pulled Xia up and locked in a straitjacket choke from behind, then used her hips to drive forward, thrusting her rear into Xia's back to tighten the pressure.

Xia faded but managed to reach the ropes. The referee forced the break. Xia rolled out to the apron. Indi followed and delivered a big boot that sent Xia tumbling to the floor again. Indi stayed on the apron, turned her back to the crowd, and dropped a heavy seated senton onto Xia's shoulders from the elevated position.

The impact was brutal. Xia crumpled. Indi rolled her back in and covered, but Xia kicked out at two and a half.

Both women were breathing hard now. Xia staggered up first and hit a series of rapid strikes, ending with a side kick to the head. She climbed the ropes again and came off with a diving corkscrew back elbow. As Indi dropped, Xia mounted in a reverse position once more and drove her hips down in a series of grinding rear thrusts against Indi's face and upper chest.

"Eat it! Every last bounce!" Xia shouted, looking back at the referee as if daring a count.

Indi exploded upward, lifting Xia and slamming her with a swinging sidewalk slam. She immediately turned and sat down with full force on Xia's midsection, then scooted higher until she was planted firmly on Xia's face again, grinding in circles.

"Still got jokes? Say them into my ass!" Indi yelled to the roaring crowd.

Xia finally shoved free and rolled to the corner. Indi charged for another hip attack, but Xia leaped up and hit a fisherman suplex out of the corner. She followed with a running dropkick, then climbed for the Broken Wings. This time she connected, driving both knees into Indi's back and dropping her hard.

Xia covered. One... two... Indi kicked out with pure will.

Frustrated, Xia pulled Indi up and went for another Brooksy Bomb. Indi countered into a hammerlock DDT. Both women were slow to rise. Indi got up first, her purple gear glinting under the lights. She whipped Xia into the ropes and met her with a massive clothesline. She then set up in the center, waiting.

Xia charged. Indi ducked, spun, and delivered a powerful rear attack by thrusting her hips backward into Xia's incoming form, a reverse hip check that sent Xia stumbling. Indi followed by dropping to a seated position and pulling Xia face-first into her lap, pressing her rear down firmly while holding Xia's head in place.

"This is where you belong. Right under the Impressive one!"

Xia fought free and hit a desperation German suplex. She went for the cover, but Indi kicked out. Xia climbed the ropes one more time for a diving attack. Indi met her in midair with a springboard counter, catching her and spinning into a rocket kick setup.

Indi launched off the ropes with her Slingshot Rocket Kick, the full force of her boot connecting clean to Xia's jaw. Xia dropped like a rock.

Indi did not cover yet. She stood over Xia, turned around, and dropped one final heavy seated splash right onto Xia's chest and face area, bouncing twice to make sure. The crowd erupted at the sight of the tall Australian driving her backside down with total dominance.

"Stay down this time, Brookside. Tell your dad I said hello from the top!" Indi taunted as she rolled over into the pin.

One...

Two...

Three!

The referee counted it out. Indi Hartwell was the winner.

"Next time bring more than trash talk. Bring something that can handle all this."

Indi Hartwell stayed right where she was after the three count, her full weight still planted firmly on Xia Brookside’s face. The purple gear stretched tight across her rear as she settled in deeper, grinding slowly side to side so the camera caught every detail.

She looked straight into the lens, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the camera like she was speaking to someone specific.

“Robbie Brookside,” she said clearly, voice loud enough for the arena mics to pick up. “This is Indi Hartwell saying hello from right on top of your daughter’s face. Hope you’re watching, mate. Your little firecracker from Liverpool is currently eating Australian championship quality. Tell her next time she runs her mouth about family, this is what happens.”

Indi bounced once, then twice, pressing down harder so Xia’s muffled protests vibrated against her. She kept staring into the camera, smirking.

“She’s got heart, I’ll give her that. But right now she’s got my arse instead. Say hi back when you see this, yeah? And tell her the Impressive one from Melbourne sends her regards… personally.”

She stayed seated a few more seconds, rolling her hips in a slow circle for the hard cam, making sure every angle caught the dominant position. Only when the referee finally waved her off did Indi rise, still looking at the camera one last time.

“Catch you later, Robbie. Your girl’s in good hands… or rather, under good cheeks.”

Indi Hartwell finally rose from Xia Brookside’s face, giving one last firm bounce before standing tall in the center of the ring. She adjusted her purple gear, still looking straight at the hard cam with that same confident smirk.

“Robbie, that’s all from me for now. Your daughter’s still down there recovering. Enjoy the view.”

She turned away from the camera, raised both arms to the roaring crowd, and soaked in the cheers. Xia remained flat on her back, chest rising and falling hard, one arm weakly covering her face. The referee checked on her while Indi made her way to the ropes.

Indi climbed onto the middle rope, posed for a few more seconds with her back arched and hands on her hips, then hopped down to the apron. She dropped to the floor, never looking back at the fallen Xia. Security and officials moved in as Indi strode up the ramp, purple gear sparkling under the lights, ponytail swinging with every step.

Halfway up the entranceway she stopped, turned slightly, and pointed once more toward the ring where Xia was just starting to sit up. The crowd kept chanting her name as Indi disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Xia Brookside alone in the middle of the ring with the memory of that final, very personal message still pressed into her face.

The arena lights dimmed as the familiar dark, haunting theme of the Triangle of Madness filled the building. Skye Blue stepped through the curtain, the golden crown resting perfectly on her head, her long dark hair with blonde streaks cascading over the shimmering blue and black gear. The cape draped across her shoulders, the high-cut bottoms and fishnets hugging every curve of her hips and thick thighs. She strutted down the ramp with that cold, arrogant smirk, the same one that had become her trademark since joining Julia Hart and Thekla. At 5’2” and 110 pounds of pure Chicago attitude, Skye Blue had transformed from the bubbly underdog into one of the most sadistic forces in AEW’s women’s division. The crowd’s mixed reaction of boos and cheers only fueled her.

She slid into the ring, slowly turning to let everyone get a full view of the backside that had become just as famous as her Code Blue finisher. She planted both hands on the ropes and arched her back, giving the hardcam a long, deliberate look at that round, firm ass before standing tall and waiting.

Ashley D’Amboise’s music hit next. “La Crème De La Crème” herself, the Florida native with the dancer’s background and the bodybuilder’s build, bounced down the aisle in her green and gold sequined gear. At 5’6” and a solid 150 pounds, she looked every bit the “Jacked Carmella” nickname the indies had given her. The high-cut trunks and fishnets left nothing to the imagination, her thick, powerful glutes bouncing with every step. She had returned to the ring after nearly two years away, and tonight she wanted to prove she was more than just the enhancement talent who had once been squashed by Skye Blue on AEW Dark back in December 2021.

Ashley climbed into the ring and immediately locked eyes with Skye. The younger woman just tilted her crowned head and smirked.

“Look who finally decided to show up again,” Skye Blue said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ashley D’Amboise. The same girl I pinned in thirty seconds years ago. You still chasing that first AEW win, or did you come here just to get that pretty ass handed to you again?”

Ashley fired right back, circling. “You got lucky that night, Blue. I was green. Now I’m the one with the real muscle. That little crown don’t make you a queen. It just makes you look like a stuck-up brat who thinks her booty is enough to win matches.”

Skye laughed, a sharp, cold sound. “My booty has already won more matches than your entire career, jobber. Keep talking. Makes it sweeter when I sit on your face later.”

The bell rang.

They locked up hard in the center. Ashley used her size advantage, driving Skye into the corner and delivering a couple of stiff shoulder blocks. Skye stumbled out, but when Ashley charged again, Skye sidestepped and swung her hips, slamming her thick ass right into Ashley’s midsection. The impact doubled the older woman over. Skye immediately hopped up onto the second rope, turned, and dropped her ass hard onto Ashley’s back in a brutal seated senton. She bounced her cheeks a few times for good measure, grinding down.

“Feel that?” Skye taunted, still seated on Ashley’s spine. “That’s what a real woman’s ass feels like. Soft enough to make you soft, heavy enough to break you.”

Ashley growled and rolled, shoving Skye off. She scrambled up and fired a stiff kick to Skye’s midsection, then spun her around and delivered a hard standing reverse figure-four neckbreaker that planted Skye face-first. Ashley didn’t stop. She dragged Skye up, bent her over the ropes, and started driving her hips forward, slamming her own powerful green-and-gold covered ass into Skye’s backside over and over in a series of brutal booty bumps.

“How’s that feel, little queen?” Ashley mocked between impacts. “You like talking about asses so much? Mine’s thicker, stronger, and it’s about to put you to sleep.”

Skye absorbed the last bump, then suddenly pushed back hard, using the ropes for leverage. She turned and whipped Ashley into the opposite corner, then charged and leaped, driving both cheeks hard into Ashley’s face in a devastating corner stinkface. She held the position, grinding her fishnet-covered ass all over Ashley’s face, smothering her completely.

“Breathe it in, jobber!” Skye yelled, bouncing slightly so her cheeks slapped against Ashley’s nose and mouth. “This is the only crown jewel you’ll ever get close to. Smell that Chicago ass. You’re never getting out from under it.”

Ashley’s arms flailed. She finally shoved Skye away and collapsed to her knees, gasping. Skye immediately hopped onto the top rope, turned, and dropped a second seated senton, this time landing square on Ashley’s face. She stayed there, rocking her hips side to side, smothering Ashley under that heavy blue-and-black booty.

“Look at you,” Skye taunted, looking down at the struggling woman beneath her. “La Crème De La Crème? More like La Crème De La Ass. You’re nothing but a seat for me now.”

Ashley finally powered out with a desperate bridge, dumping Skye forward. The Florida woman scrambled up, grabbed Skye by the hair, and dragged her to the center. She bent Skye over and delivered a series of hard hip thrusts from behind, each one slamming her thick glutes into Skye’s rear. Then she spun Skye around, dropped to a seated position, and pulled Skye’s face straight into her own green-and-gold covered ass, grinding hard in a reverse stinkface.

“Your turn, Blue!” Ashley snarled, bouncing her powerful cheeks up and down on Skye’s face. “Eat it. All that talk and now you’re face-first in the real deal. My ass is gonna leave a permanent imprint on that pretty little face of yours.”

Skye’s muffled protests only made Ashley grind harder. After a long ten-count, Skye managed to roll free, both women gasping for air. They rose slowly, eyes locked, both asses still the center of attention as the crowd roared at the pure physicality.

Skye struck first with a lightning-fast spinning heel kick that staggered Ashley. She followed with a snapmare, then hopped over and dropped her ass hard onto Ashley’s chest in a delayed seated senton, deliberately angling so one cheek pressed against Ashley’s face. She stayed seated, rocking side to side.

“Still soft under all that muscle,” Skye mocked. “All those years on the indies and you still can’t handle a real woman’s weight. Triangle of Madness owns this division. You’re just another body for me to sit on.”

Ashley exploded upward, dumping Skye off. She caught Skye in a waistlock and delivered a hard German suplex, then immediately followed with a standing moonsault that landed her full body across Skye, but she made sure to land with her ass driving down onto Skye’s upper body. She ground down for a moment before rolling off.

The match turned into a pure battle of power and spite. Ashley whipped Skye into the ropes and met her with a hard hip attack, their asses colliding with a loud slap that echoed through the arena. Skye stumbled, but on the next whip she leaped and twisted, dropping a spinning seated senton that planted her blue-covered cheeks right onto Ashley’s face again. This time she leaned back, using her hands on Ashley’s thighs for leverage as she smothered her completely.

“You’re so weak under me,” Skye said, voice calm and cruel. “I remember pinning you in thirty seconds. Tonight I’m going to take my time. I’m going to ride this face until the referee has no choice but to count you out under my ass.”

Ashley bridged desperately and rolled, ending up on top. She immediately sat down hard on Skye’s face in a full mounted stinkface, grinding her green-and-gold booty in slow, deliberate circles. The crowd popped hard as Ashley leaned forward, hands on Skye’s thighs, putting her full weight down.

“How’s the view from down there, Your Majesty?” Ashley taunted, bouncing once. “This is what a real woman’s power feels like. Not that skinny little Triangle nonsense. Real muscle. Real ass. And it’s putting you to sleep.”

Skye’s legs kicked. She finally managed to shove Ashley sideways and roll to the ropes. Both women pulled themselves up, chests heaving, fishnets torn in places, hair wild. Skye’s crown was slightly tilted. Ashley’s sequins glittered under the lights.

They circled again. Skye launched a sudden dropkick that sent Ashley reeling into the corner. Skye charged, leaped, and drove both knees into Ashley’s chest, then immediately turned and sat down hard on Ashley’s face again, this time facing outward so the hardcam got a perfect view of that round blue ass smothering the older woman. She bounced slowly, deliberately, each impact making Ashley’s body jerk.

“Taste it,” Skye ordered. “This is the last thing you’re going to feel before I end you. Code Blue is coming, but first you’re going to remember exactly whose ass owned you tonight.”

Ashley’s arms finally found purchase. She shoved Skye off with a desperate burst of strength and stumbled to the center. Both women were spent, but neither would quit. Ashley grabbed Skye for a powerbomb attempt, but Skye slipped out behind her, hopped onto the middle rope, and launched herself into a twisting seated senton that crashed her entire lower body across Ashley’s upper back and head. She stayed seated, grinding her cheeks across the back of Ashley’s neck and head.

The referee started counting. Ashley tried to power up, but Skye kept bouncing, keeping the pressure on.

Finally Ashley rolled. Skye scrambled up first, grabbed her for the Code Blue, the twisting flatliner that had become her trademark. Ashley blocked it at the last second, spun, and tried for her own swinging neckbreaker. Skye reversed it into a sudden roll-up, but Ashley kicked out at one.

Both women rose again, slower now. Skye wiped blood from a small cut near her lip and smirked.

“You’re tougher than I remembered,” she admitted. “Still not tough enough. That ass of yours is strong, I’ll give you that. But mine is meaner.”

Ashley spat to the side. “Keep talking, little girl. When I sit on your face one last time, the only thing coming out of your mouth is going to be a submission.”

They charged. Bodies collided in the center. Skye ducked a clothesline and spun behind Ashley, locking in a body scissors from the rear while pulling her backward into a seated position. Skye’s powerful thighs and ass locked around Ashley’s midsection as she leaned back, driving her weight down. Then she shifted higher, sliding her fishnet-covered cheeks up until they covered the back of Ashley’s head and neck completely. She squeezed and ground.

Ashley’s face turned red as she tried to break the hold. Skye just laughed and bounced harder.

“Feel that? That’s pure Chicago pressure. Your Florida ass ain’t got nothing on this.”

Ashley finally powered to her feet with Skye still attached, then drove backward into the corner, crushing Skye against the turnbuckles with her own thick backside. She kept slamming her ass backward over and over, each impact jolting Skye. Then she turned, grabbed Skye by the hair, and forced her face-first into the corner before climbing up and dropping a hard corner stinkface of her own, grinding those green-and-gold cheeks all over Skye’s face and upper body.

“Now who’s soft?” Ashley growled, bouncing with authority. “All that Triangle of Madness talk and you’re still just a little girl getting her face sat on by a real woman. Stay down there where you belong.”

Skye’s hands found the ropes. She pulled herself free with a desperate shove, then immediately leaped onto Ashley’s back and locked in a rear naked choke while wrapping her legs around Ashley’s waist, grinding her hips and ass against the older woman’s lower back. They staggered around the ring like that until Ashley collapsed to one knee. Skye shifted her weight and drove her hips down harder, using her ass as a weapon to keep Ashley grounded.

The referee checked. Ashley’s arm was still up. Skye released, spun around, and dropped a final hard seated senton across Ashley’s chest and face, smothering her completely one more time while the crowd counted along with the referee.

One.

Two.

Ashley’s shoulders were still down. Skye bounced once more for good measure, her blue-covered cheeks completely covering Ashley’s face.

Three.

The bell rang.

Skye Blue stayed seated for a long moment, making sure Ashley felt every second of the pin. Then she finally rose, standing tall over the defeated woman, crown still in place. She turned and gave the hardcam one last long look at the ass that had just dominated the match, then raised one arm high.

Ashley rolled to the apron, coughing and trying to catch her breath, her green-and-gold gear still perfectly framing the powerful backside that had given Skye all she could handle.

Skye grabbed a microphone as the official result was announced.

“Ashley D’Amboise,” she said, voice cold and clear. “You came back after two years thinking you were something special. You brought that thick Florida ass and all that muscle. And you still ended up under me. Just like last time. Triangle of Madness runs this division. And my ass just reminded every single one of you why.”

Skye Blue did not leave the ring right away after the pinfall. Instead she stood over Ashley D’Amboise, who was still on her back gasping, green-and-gold gear scuffed and fishnets torn in places. The younger woman slowly turned around, presenting that same thick, round, blue-and-black covered ass that had just smothered Ashley for the three-count. She looked back over her shoulder with a cruel little smile, crown still perfectly in place.

“Get up,” Skye ordered, voice low and sharp. “On your knees. Right now.”

Ashley rolled to her side, pushing up on shaky arms. “Go to hell, Blue. You already got the win. Walk away.”

Skye laughed, the sound cold. She took two steps back, planted her feet wide, and arched her lower back so her ass stuck out even more. The sequined material of her gear stretched tight across both cheeks, the high cut leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She reached back with both hands and gave each cheek a firm slap, making them jiggle.

“I said on your knees. You spent half that match talking about how strong your ass is. Now prove you can handle mine. Crawl over here and kiss it. Show everyone in this building who the real queen is.”

Ashley’s face twisted with anger and humiliation. She stayed on one knee. “I’m not kissing your ass, you stuck-up little—”

Skye cut her off by stepping forward fast. She grabbed a fistful of Ashley’s dark hair and yanked her head up, forcing the older woman to look straight at the blue-covered cheeks inches from her face. The scent of sweat and the ring mat mixed with the heat radiating off Skye’s body.

“You will,” Skye said, voice dripping with mockery. “You already ate it during the match. You already felt every bounce and grind. Now you’re going to put your lips on it like a good little jobber and thank me for the lesson. Or I can sit on your face again until you pass out. Your choice.”

Ashley tried to pull away, but Skye’s grip was tight. The Chicago native turned fully around and shoved her ass backward, pressing those firm cheeks right against Ashley’s face. She held the position, grinding slowly side to side so the soft, heavy flesh covered Ashley’s nose and mouth completely.

“Mmph—!” Ashley’s protest was muffled instantly.

Skye kept the pressure on, rocking her hips in slow circles. “That’s it. Breathe it in. Feel how soft it is after all that work. You fought hard tonight, I’ll give you that. But this is where every tough talk ends. With my ass in your face and you learning your place.”

She pulled back just enough for Ashley to gasp for air, then shoved backward again, harder this time. The impact made a soft, fleshy sound. Skye reached back with one hand and spread her cheeks slightly through the material of her gear, pressing even closer.

“Kiss it,” she ordered. “Right now. Both cheeks. Nice and slow so the cameras catch every second. Or I call Julia and Thekla out here and we all take turns sitting on you until you beg.”

Ashley’s eyes watered with pure frustration. Her powerful arms flexed, but Skye’s grip on her hair and the sheer weight of that ass kept her trapped. After a long moment of struggle, Ashley’s pride cracked under the humiliation. She leaned forward the last inch and pressed her lips firmly against the center of Skye’s left cheek.

Skye’s eyes lit up with pure delight. “Good girl. Now the other one. Don’t be shy. Put some real feeling into it.”

Ashley moved to the right cheek and kissed it the same way, lips lingering for a second longer than she wanted. The moment her mouth made contact, Skye deliberately pushed back, forcing the kiss deeper, grinding that soft, round flesh against Ashley’s face.

“Louder,” Skye demanded, still holding her by the hair. “I want the whole arena to hear you kissing my ass. Make it wet. Make it sincere. Tell me how good it tastes.”

Ashley’s voice came out strained and quiet. “It… tastes like victory for you. Happy now?”

Skye laughed and bounced her hips once, slapping her ass against Ashley’s face. “Almost. One more time. Both cheeks. And this time say ‘Thank you, Queen Skye’ while you do it.”

Ashley’s jaw clenched, but she leaned in again. She kissed the left cheek, then the right, each time with Skye grinding back to make sure the contact was full and deep. Between the kisses she forced the words out through gritted teeth.

“Thank you… Queen Skye.”

Skye finally released the hair and stepped forward, turning around to look down at the kneeling woman. She reached back and gave her own ass one more slow, proud slap.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. You spent years on the indies and a few nights on Dark as enhancement talent. Tonight you got a real reminder of the food chain. My ass is the throne. You just paid your respects.”

She turned and strutted a few steps away, making sure to sway her hips so those same cheeks bounced with every step. At the ropes she paused and looked back one last time.

“Next time you step in the ring with me, or with anyone from Triangle of Madness, remember the taste of my ass on your lips. That’s the only victory you’ll ever get from me.”

Skye slid out under the bottom rope and started up the ramp, cape in hand, leaving Ashley still on her knees in the center of the ring, face flushed, the memory of those forced kisses and the soft, heavy pressure of Skye Blue’s ass burned into her for good.

The crowd packed the temporary ringside seats on the sandy shore as the sun dipped low. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt water while waves rolled in behind the ring. Lola Vice stood in her corner, long black braid hanging down her back, white bikini bottoms already digging into her hips from the walk to the ring. She rolled her shoulders and smirked at the opposite corner.

Skye Blue bounced on the ropes, blue daisy-print bikini top and bottoms clinging to her wet skin from the earlier ocean dip. Her teal-streaked hair stuck to her neck. She pointed at Lola and mouthed something the hard camera couldn’t catch.

The bell rang.

Lola didn’t wait. She charged across the mat, grabbed Skye by the hair, and yanked her forward. In one smooth motion Lola spun, planted her bare feet, and sat down hard. Her thick ass cheeks spread wide as they smashed directly into Skye’s face. The impact was wet and heavy.

“Mmmph!” Skye’s protest was muffled under the full weight of Lola’s backside.

Lola ground side to side, smothering Skye’s nose and mouth completely. “Smell that, blue-haired bitch? That’s pure Latina ass. Better get used to it. You’re gonna be eating it all night.”

She lifted just enough for Skye to gasp, then dropped again, harder. The slap of flesh on face echoed. Lola reached back and peeled her own bikini bottoms deeper into her crack, giving Skye an even tighter seat.

Skye’s hands clawed at Lola’s thick thighs. When Lola finally stood and stepped away, Skye’s face was red, eyes watering. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You wanna play like that, bitch?” Skye snarled, voice still rough. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Skye lunged. She caught Lola around the waist, spun her, and drove her face-first into the turnbuckle. While Lola was still stunned, Skye yanked the white bikini bottoms up hard between Lola’s cheeks. The fabric disappeared into a deep wedgie, the string biting into Lola’s pussy and asshole.

“How’s that feel, Vice? Your fat ass eating that thong?” Skye mocked. She delivered three sharp open-hand spanks to each cheek. The sound cracked across the beach. Lola’s flesh jiggled and reddened instantly.

Lola shoved backward, knocking Skye off. She turned, eyes blazing. “You think a little wedgie’s gonna stop me? Come here.”

They locked up in the center. Lola overpowered the clinch, spun Skye around, and locked in a standing reverse figure-four. She forced Skye’s head down between her own spread thighs, then sat. Once again Lola’s ass engulfed Skye’s face. This time Lola reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks wider, pressing Skye’s nose deep into her crack.

“Breathe it in, Skye. That’s the only air you’re getting. Your little blue bikini’s about to get wrecked.”

Skye thrashed. Her hands slapped at Lola’s hips. When Lola finally released the hold, Skye came up sputtering. She immediately grabbed Lola’s braid and yanked her down into a headlock, then used the leverage to peel Lola’s bikini bottoms even higher. The white string disappeared completely. Skye added a series of hard spanks, alternating cheeks, making Lola’s ass bounce and sting.

“Look at that fat Mexican ass turning red,” Skye taunted. “You walk around like you’re the queen of the beach. Tonight you’re just my personal face cushion.”

Lola broke free with a hard elbow. She shoved Skye into the ropes, rebound, and met her with a running hip attack. Lola’s ass crashed into Skye’s midsection, folding her. Before Skye could recover, Lola sat on her chest and scooted forward until her bikini-covered crotch was pressed against Skye’s face. She rode in small circles, grinding.

“Taste the sand and the sweat, blue eyes. This is what happens when you talk shit.”

Skye bucked and rolled. She reversed into a pin attempt, but Lola kicked out at one. They scrambled to their feet. Skye caught Lola from behind in a full nelson, then forced her to bend at the waist. Skye’s knee drove into Lola’s lower back while both hands reached around and yanked the white bikini bottoms up so hard the fabric tore slightly at the seams. Another rapid series of spanks followed, each one leaving a clear handprint.

“Wedgie and spank city for the thick girl,” Skye laughed. “Your ass is so big I need both hands just to cover one cheek.”

Lola roared and reversed the full nelson into a sit-down powerbomb. Skye’s body bounced on the mat. Lola immediately straddled her face again, this time facing the opposite direction so her ass was the only thing Skye could see or smell. Lola bounced up and down, smothering in short, heavy drops.

“You asked for it, bitch. You wanted to play dirty? My ass is the dirtiest playground you’ll ever visit.”

Skye’s muffled curses came out between gasps whenever Lola lifted. When Lola finally stood, Skye sat up, face shiny with sweat and traces of sunscreen. She glared.

“You’re not the only one with an ass that can end a career.”

Skye charged. She ducked under a clothesline, grabbed Lola around the thighs, and hoisted her up into a fireman’s carry. Instead of a standard slam, Skye dropped to a seated position and forced Lola’s face into her own blue daisy bikini bottom. She ground hard, the fabric pressing into Lola’s mouth and nose.

“Choke on these daisies, Vice. Smell that ocean and that ass. You’re not better than me.”

Lola fought free after twenty seconds of pure smother. She scrambled up and immediately returned the favor, catching Skye in a rear waistlock and lifting her into a face-first atomic drop onto Lola’s waiting knee. While Skye was folded, Lola reached under and pulled the blue bikini bottoms into a brutal wedgie from the front and back at the same time. The daisy fabric vanished between Skye’s cheeks. Lola added ten hard spanks in a row, the last three aimed right at the wedgie string.

“Your blue ass looks better when it’s red and eaten by its own panties,” Lola mocked. “Keep talking. Every word just makes me sit harder next time.”

They traded more. Skye hit a springboard crossbody that flattened Lola. She immediately transitioned into a stinkface of her own, squatting low and pressing her thick, wet cheeks over Lola’s entire face. Skye reached back and peeled her own bikini aside so bare skin met Lola’s nose and mouth.

“No more fabric for you. Straight up Skye Blue ass. Swallow it.”

Lola’s hands slapped the mat. When she finally shoved Skye off, she was gasping and laughing at the same time. “That’s all you got? I’ve sat on bigger and better.”

The match turned into a prolonged exchange of humiliation. Lola would catch Skye in a camel clutch and bounce her face against her ass. Skye would reverse into a Boston crab and use the leverage to deliver repeated wedgies and open-hand spanks. Every time one woman gained control, the other paid with her face buried, her bikini yanked higher, or her cheeks painted red.

Near the end, both women were breathing hard, bikini bottoms destroyed into permanent wedgies, asses glowing. Lola trapped Skye in the corner and delivered a series of hard hip thrusts, each one ending with her ass smacking into Skye’s face. Skye answered by dragging Lola to the mat, mounting her in a reverse face-sitting position, and grinding while delivering verbal shots.

“You started this with that first stinkface,” Skye said between grinds. “Now look at you. Covered in my sweat, your own panties up your crack, and still talking. Next time just bend over and take it.”

Lola bucked hard and rolled Skye underneath her. She locked in a final long stinkface, spreading her cheeks wide and sitting with full weight.

“And you still can’t handle it,” Lola answered. “Remember this smell when you’re alone tonight. It’s the last thing that beat you.”

They stayed locked like that until the referee finally called for the bell on time limit. Both women collapsed to the mat, chests heaving, asses marked, bikini bottoms ruined. They glared at each other through the sweat and sand, already knowing the rematch would be even dirtier.

The crowd roared as the two thick, bruised competitors slowly got to their feet, still talking trash under their breath while the ocean waves kept rolling in behind them.

Lola staggered to her feet first, braid swinging, white bikini bottoms still buried deep between her cheeks from the last wedgie. Sand stuck to the sweat on her thighs and the red handprints across her ass. She pointed a finger straight at Skye, who was still on one knee, blue daisy bottoms ruined and her own cheeks glowing.

“Time limit my ass,” Lola spat, voice loud enough for the front rows to hear. “You and me, right now, right here. No referee, no bell, no bullshit. We finish this business on this sand until one of us can’t stand. You talk all that shit with that blue hair and that little daisy print, but you still couldn’t put me away. Come on, Skye. You scared? Or you just not ready to have this thick Latina ass smother the last of the fight out of you?”

Skye pushed herself up, wiping sand from her mouth. Her teal streaks hung wet against her neck. She laughed once, short and sharp.

“You really think I’m walking away after you sat on my face half the match? Finish it right here? Fine, bitch. No rules. Just you, me, and whoever’s ass hits the sand last. You’re about to regret opening that mouth.”

The crowd stayed packed around the ring as both women stepped back into the center. No official, no timekeeper. Just the ocean and the heat still rising off the mat.

Lola lunged first. She ducked under Skye’s wild right hand, grabbed a fistful of teal-streaked hair, and yanked hard. In the same motion she spun, dropped her hips, and forced Skye’s face straight into the full spread of her ass. The white bikini bottoms were already wedged so deep they offered almost no coverage. Lola’s thick cheeks clapped around Skye’s nose and mouth with a heavy, wet sound.

“Smell that again,” Lola mocked, grinding side to side. “This is the same ass that owned you for twenty minutes. Now there’s no clock. You’re gonna live in it until you tap or pass out. Go on, try to talk shit now.”

Skye’s muffled curses vibrated against Lola’s skin. Her hands slapped at Lola’s hips and tried to pry the cheeks apart. Lola only sat heavier, reaching back with both hands to spread herself wider so Skye’s entire face disappeared between the soft, sweaty flesh.

After a long ten-count of pure smother, Lola stood and shoved Skye backward onto the mat. Skye gasped for air, face shiny. Before she could fully recover, Lola dropped into a seated position across her chest, facing the opposite way, and immediately lowered her ass onto Skye’s face again. This time she bounced, short heavy drops that made her cheeks jiggle and forced Skye’s head deeper into the sand.

“Still talking? Still thinking you can hang with this body?” Lola taunted between bounces. “Your blue bikini’s already up your crack. Mine’s about to become your permanent oxygen mask.”

Skye bucked hard and rolled. She reversed the position in one explosive move, trapping Lola’s head between her own thighs. Skye sat down heavy, blue daisy bottoms pressed tight against Lola’s mouth and nose. She reached under, hooked the waistband of Lola’s white bottoms, and yanked them higher until the string vanished completely between Lola’s cheeks. Then she delivered a rapid series of open-hand spanks, each one cracking loud against the already red flesh.

“You wanted no rules?” Skye snarled. “Then take this. Fat ass, red ass, wedgie ass. You’re not the only one who can sit and smother. Breathe through my daisies, Vice. Choke on them.”

Lola’s hands clawed at Skye’s hips. When she finally forced enough space to speak, her voice came out rough.

“That’s cute. Your little beach-girl ass thinks it can match mine. Keep spanking. Every slap just makes me sit harder next time.”

She bridged and twisted, dumping Skye onto her side. Lola scrambled behind her, locked in a rear waistlock, and hoisted Skye up just high enough to force her face-first into the turnbuckle. While Skye was pinned there, Lola peeled the blue bikini bottoms into an even deeper wedgie from both the front and the back, the daisy fabric cutting tight. Then she delivered ten hard spanks in a row, alternating cheeks, watching the flesh bounce and darken.

“Look at that blue ass eating its own panties,” Lola mocked. “You came out here looking pretty. Now you look like a used face seat. Tell me again how you’re finishing this business.”

Skye shoved off the turnbuckle and spun into a clothesline that caught Lola across the chest. Both women hit the mat. Skye crawled on top, straddled Lola’s face in reverse, and lowered her bare-ish cheeks (the bikini already ruined) until full contact. She ground in slow circles, one hand reaching back to keep Lola’s head locked in place.

“No more talking from you until I say so. This is Skye Blue’s ass, and it’s the last thing you’re tasting tonight. You started the stinkfaces. I’m ending them.”

Lola’s muffled protests turned into strained breathing. She waited for the right moment, then exploded upward with a bridge that sent Skye tumbling. Lola followed immediately, trapping Skye’s head between her thighs again and sitting down with full weight. This time she faced the same direction so she could look down into Skye’s eyes while her ass covered everything below.

“Eyes up here, blue hair. Watch me own you. Your mouth is full of my cheeks and you still can’t stop me. Tap if you want air. Or keep being stubborn and I’ll keep feeding it to you.”

Skye refused to tap. She reached up, hooked both hands into Lola’s white bottoms, and yanked them so hard the remaining fabric tore further. The string disappeared. Skye’s fingers dug into the soft flesh and delivered sharp, targeted spanks even while her face was buried.

They rolled across the mat in a messy exchange of positions. Every time one woman gained the upper hand she immediately went for the same weapons: face-sitting, deep wedgies, heavy spanks, and constant verbal shots.

Lola trapped Skye in a seated headscissors and bounced her ass against the trapped face while taunting, “This is how thick girls finish business. You feel that weight? That’s me telling you you’re done.”

Skye reversed into a face-down camel clutch, forcing Lola’s head back while grinding her own blue-clad crotch against Lola’s face and delivering more spanks to the exposed red cheeks. “You asked for right now, right here. So take every second of it. Your braid’s gonna smell like my ass for a week.”

The sand stuck to their skin. Sweat mixed with ocean spray. Both bikini bottoms were destroyed into permanent wedgies. Handprints layered over handprints on both asses. Neither woman slowed down.

Lola finally locked Skye into a long, crushing stinkface in the center of the ring, spreading her cheeks wide with both hands and sitting with everything she had. Skye’s legs kicked. Her hands slapped the mat.

“Finish it, you said,” Lola growled, voice thick with exertion. “So finish breathing. This is the last business you’re doing tonight. My ass. Your face. End of story.”

Skye’s body went limp for a moment under the weight. Lola stayed seated, grinding, until Skye’s hand weakly tapped the mat three times.

Lola held the position a few extra seconds just to make the point, then finally stood. She looked down at Skye, who was gasping, face red and shiny, blue bikini bottoms still buried deep.

“Business finished,” Lola said, still breathing hard. “Right now. Right here. Just like I told you. Next time you talk shit, remember how this thick Latina ass shut you up.”

Skye rolled onto her side, still sucking air, but she managed a weak smirk through the exhaustion.

“This isn’t over, Vice. Not by a long shot. Next time I sit first.”

Lola laughed, the sound carrying over the waves, and offered a hand that Skye slapped away before pushing herself up on her own. Both women stood there on the sand-covered mat, asses marked, bikinis ruined, still trading low insults while the crowd roared around them. The ocean kept rolling in, and neither one looked ready to walk away for good.

Lola snatched the nearest microphone from a ringside attendant before Skye could fully steady herself. She climbed onto the middle rope, one hand holding the mic, the other resting on her hip so the ruined white bikini bottoms stayed pulled high between her cheeks. Sand still clung to her thighs. The red handprints across her ass were clear under the lights. She looked down at Skye, who was on all fours trying to catch her breath, blue daisy bottoms still buried deep, face shiny and marked from every stinkface.

Lola raised the mic to her lips and let the first words roll out slow and loud.

“Look at you, Skye Blue. Look at what just happened right here on this sand. You walked in talking like you were the one who was gonna shut me down. Teal hair bouncing, little daisy bikini looking all cute, acting like that body of yours could hang with this. And what did you do? You tapped. You tapped to my ass. Straight up. Face buried, lungs empty, hand hitting the mat because you couldn’t take another second of these thick Latina cheeks sitting on that pretty mouth of yours.”

She turned so the crowd got a full view of her backside, then reached back with free hand and gave her own cheek a hard slap that echoed through the speakers.

“This is what beat you. This right here. Not a pin, not a submission hold you could reverse. Just pure, heavy, sweaty ass. I sat on your face so many times tonight you probably still taste sunscreen and sand mixed with me. And you still couldn’t do a damn thing about it. You tried your little wedgies. You tried your little spanks. You tried sitting on me right back. And every single time I just got back up and put you right back under where you belong.”

Skye pushed herself to her knees, glaring up, but Lola kept going without giving her room.

“You remember the first stinkface? The one that started all this? I didn’t even warm up. I just grabbed that blue hair, dropped these cheeks, and made you smell what real power feels like. You came up sputtering and talking shit like ‘you wanna play like that bitch.’ Yeah I did. And I kept playing. Every time you got a little momentum I reminded you whose face was getting used as a seat cushion. Your nose was in my crack more than it was in open air. Your mouth was full of my cheeks while I was grinding and bouncing and talking shit right back at you. And you still thought you were gonna finish business? Baby, the only business that got finished was you tapping out while this ass was still parked on your face.”

Lola hopped down from the rope and walked a slow circle around Skye, mic still live. She stopped behind her, reached down, and gave one of Skye’s already red cheeks a sharp open-hand spank that made the flesh jiggle. The sound cracked through the speakers.

“Still red from my hands. Still got that daisy print eaten up between those cheeks from the wedgies I gave you. Look at yourself. You look used. You look like a girl who spent the whole night under someone thicker, stronger, and meaner. And you know what the funniest part is? You asked for it. I offered to finish it right here, right now, no rules. You said yes. You thought that blue hair and that attitude was gonna save you. Instead you got smothered, spanked, wedgied, and left gasping on the mat while the crowd watched every second of it.”

She stepped in front of Skye again, leaned down so the mic picked up every word clearly, and kept the tone pure mockery.

“You talk about next time. Next time I’m sitting first. Next time you’re not walking out of here with any pride left. I’m gonna make sure the whole world sees Skye Blue’s face disappear between these cheeks until you forget what clean air even smells like. You’re gonna wear my handprints for days. You’re gonna feel that wedgie string cutting into you every time you try to sit down. And every time you look in the mirror you’re gonna remember that thick Latina ass owned you on this beach in front of everybody.”

Lola straightened up, raised the mic higher, and addressed the crowd while still staring down at Skye.

“Y’all saw it. Time limit or not, she tapped. She tapped to the stinkface. She tapped to the weight. She tapped because she couldn’t handle what this body can do. Skye Blue came out here thinking she was the main event. She left as my personal face seat. And if she wants the rematch, she better bring a better pair of lungs, because these cheeks ain’t going nowhere. They’re staying right here, ready to sit, ready to smother, ready to shut that mouth up all over again.”

She dropped the mic onto the mat right in front of Skye’s knees. The thud was loud. Lola turned, gave her own ass one more hard slap for the cameras, and started walking up the aisle, braid swinging, ruined white bottoms still deep in her crack, every step making the red marks bounce.

Over her shoulder she called back one last time, voice still carrying without the mic.

“Clean that sand out of your mouth when you get home, blue hair. And remember who put it there.”

Skye stayed on her knees a few extra seconds, chest heaving, eyes locked on Lola’s retreating form. The crowd was still loud. The ocean kept rolling in. And the unfinished business between them felt heavier than ever.

The packed arena in Istanbul pulsed with energy under the bright lights. Thousands of fans waved Turkish flags mixed with American banners. On one side of the ring stood Kylie Jenner, the global icon, makeup mogul, and undisputed queen of curves. Her golden yellow bikini clung tight to her oiled, glistening body, the tiny triangles barely containing her full breasts and the string bottoms framing her round, firm ass. Wet dark hair stuck to her shoulders. She held the mic with one hand, the other resting on her hip.

On the opposite side, Feyza Akkan bounced on her toes, the Turkish social media star born in Ankara, raised between physics studies and professional horse riding, now living in Istanbul and known across Turkey as the Turkish Kylie. Her sparkling white sequined bikini shimmered under the lights. The triangle top pushed her large breasts up high, the bottoms tied with white strings that dug into her hips and left most of her plump ass exposed. A wide straw hat sat tilted on her long black hair. Red nails flexed as she gripped the ropes.

The referee raised his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a one fall match! No disqualifications!”

Kylie smirked into the mic first. “Look at this little copycat. Turkish Kylie? Please. I invented this look. You spend all day on TikTok trying to be me, posting those same bikini shots, same pout, same everything. You’re just a cheaper version from Ankara. Tonight I show the world the real thing.”

Feyza snatched her own mic, eyes flashing with a mix of admiration and fire. “Kylie Jenner. My idol since I was a teenager. I watched every video, bought every product, practiced that exact lip look in the mirror. People in Turkey call me Turkish Kylie because I carry your energy. But tonight the student becomes the teacher. You’re not the only one with these assets. My body is real, trained from riding horses and living under this sun. Your Hollywood curves are about to get handled by Turkish heat.”

The crowd roared. The bell rang.

Feyza charged first, sliding under the ropes and locking her arms around Kylie’s waist in a tight waistlock. She pressed her own full breasts hard against Kylie’s golden-covered chest, grinding them together so the soft flesh squished and spilled over the tiny triangles. “Feel that? These Turkish breasts are heavier than your famous ones. I’ve been waiting years to press them against my idol.”

Kylie grunted and shoved back, her own massive breasts bouncing as she broke the hold. “Cute. But these have made me a billionaire. Yours just get likes on Instagram.” She spun Feyza around and locked in a rear waistlock, then drove her hips forward, slamming her own round golden-clad ass hard into Feyza’s sequined cheeks with a loud wet slap. The impact sent both asses jiggling wildly. Kylie did it again, and again, each powerful ass smash making Feyza’s plump rear bounce and shake.

“Take that, little copy! Feel the real Jenner ass working you!”

Feyza moaned through gritted teeth and countered by dropping to all fours, then thrusting her own thick ass backward in a sudden reverse impact, her sequined cheeks colliding with Kylie’s crotch and lower belly. The force knocked Kylie back a step. Feyza rose and turned, grabbing Kylie’s golden top with both hands and yanking it upward so the triangles flipped over, exposing one full breast for a second before Kylie yanked it back down.

“Oops, idol. Even your famous breasts need better coverage,” Feyza taunted, then locked her arms around Kylie again and pressed chest to chest, rubbing her sequined breasts in slow circles against Kylie’s golden ones. The friction made both pairs of soft flesh bounce and slide, nipples hardening under the thin fabric.

Kylie snarled. “You think rubbing those against me makes you special? I’ve had better.” She broke free, grabbed Feyza by the hair, and forced her face-first into the corner. Then Kylie backed up, turned, and launched herself into a running rear attack, slamming her entire golden ass into Feyza’s back and then lower, grinding her cheeks up and down against Feyza’s sequined rear while pinned. The continuous ass-to-ass friction made wet sounds as oil and sweat mixed.

“This is what a real ass does, Turkish Kylie! Yours is just a pale imitation!”

Feyza pushed off the corner with a sudden reverse, spinning so her own full breasts slammed into Kylie’s face. The soft heavy mounds covered Kylie’s eyes and mouth for a moment. Feyza held the position, bouncing her chest up and down so her breasts slapped against Kylie’s cheeks and lips repeatedly. “Taste the Turkish version, idol. Softer, warmer, and ready for you.”

Kylie shoved the breasts away and locked Feyza in a standing headscissors, but instead of pure choke she twisted so her powerful thighs squeezed while her golden-covered crotch pressed against Feyza’s face. Then she rotated, dropping into a seated position that forced Feyza’s face between her thighs and against her ass. Kylie started bouncing her full cheeks up and down on Feyza’s face, smothering her with heavy, soft flesh. “Breathe through that Jenner ass if you can! This is the real deal you dream about!”

Feyza’s muffled voice still came through. “I dreamed of this… but now I take it!” She managed to roll, trapping Kylie’s legs and reversing so she sat on Kylie’s chest. From there Feyza leaned forward and pressed both of her sequined breasts down hard onto Kylie’s face, smothering her idol with soft Turkish flesh. She ground them side to side, letting the heavy mounds slide across Kylie’s nose and mouth while her own plump ass settled firmly on Kylie’s midsection.

“How does the student’s chest feel, Kylie? Better than your own products?”

Kylie bucked upward with surprising strength, throwing Feyza off. She scrambled up and charged into a clothesline, but at the last second she turned it into a breast smash, slamming her golden-covered chest full force into Feyza’s. Both pairs of breasts compressed and exploded outward on impact, the wet slap echoing. Kylie followed immediately with a spinning reverse, turning her back and driving her ass into Feyza’s stomach, then lower into her crotch area in a series of hard, repeated ass thrusts.

“Every bounce of this ass made me famous! Yours just follows!”

Feyza recovered and caught Kylie in a front face lock, but she used it to pull Kylie’s head down between her own large breasts, burying the icon’s face deep in the soft cleavage. She squeezed her arms tight so the sequined mounds pressed hard against both sides of Kylie’s head. “Stay there, idol. This is the Turkish Kylie welcome.”

Kylie fought free by grabbing Feyza’s hips and spinning her into a rear position. She locked her arms around Feyza’s waist from behind and began thrusting her hips, grinding her golden ass against Feyza’s sequined one in a relentless dry-humping motion. Each hard press made both asses ripple and clap together. “Feel how a real ass works a copy! You’re soft, I’m steel under this skin!”

The crowd chanted both names. Feyza broke the grind by dropping to her knees and then exploding upward into a reverse atomic drop of sorts, but she timed it so her thick thighs and ass cheeks slammed upward into Kylie’s crotch. The impact lifted Kylie slightly. Feyza then turned and tackled her to the mat, landing on top in a full body press that mashed their breasts together hard. She started bouncing her chest up and down, letting her heavy breasts slap repeatedly against Kylie’s.

“These Turkish breasts have been waiting for this moment! My idol under me!”

Kylie bridged and reversed, rolling Feyza onto her back. She straddled Feyza’s waist and leaned forward, dangling her golden-covered breasts just above Feyza’s face, then dropping them down to smother. She ground the soft mounds left and right across Feyza’s features. “You wanted the real thing. Here it is. Choke on the original.”

Feyza’s hands shot up and grabbed Kylie’s golden top, yanking hard until both triangles slipped aside. For several seconds Kylie’s full bare breasts spilled free, bouncing heavily as she continued the smother. Feyza took the chance to lift her head and press her face between them, then her hands squeezed the soft flesh while her own sequined breasts remained covered. “Even better without the fabric, idol!”

Kylie quickly adjusted her top back into place with a frustrated growl, then shifted position. She spun around into a 69-style pin attempt, lowering her golden ass directly onto Feyza’s face while her own face hovered near Feyza’s sequined crotch. She began grinding her full cheeks in slow, heavy circles, completely covering Feyza’s nose and mouth with soft, warm flesh. “Eat this Jenner ass! This is what you fantasize about every night!”

Feyza’s legs kicked, but she used the position to her advantage, lifting her hips and slamming her own plump sequined ass upward into Kylie’s face repeatedly. The wet impacts of ass on face filled the arena. “And this is the Turkish version working the original!”

They rolled apart, both breathing hard, oil and sweat shining on every curve. Kylie wiped her mouth and taunted again. “You’re good for a fan. But fans stay fans. Icons stay icons.”

Feyza stood, chest heaving, breasts rising and falling dramatically in the sequined top. “I started as a fan. Tonight I finish as the one who matched you. Horse riding gave me these thighs and this ass. The sun in Turkey gave me this skin. Your empire gave me the dream. Now I live it.”

They circled again. Kylie lunged into a spear, but at the last moment she turned it into a diving breast attack, flying forward so her full golden chest crashed into Feyza’s. Both women went down in a tangle of soft flesh and bouncing curves. On the mat Kylie immediately scrambled into a mounted position and began raining down soft but heavy breast smothers, pressing her chest onto Feyza’s face over and over.

Feyza bucked her hips hard, throwing Kylie forward. She scrambled behind and locked in a rear naked choke variation, but instead of pure choke she pressed her own full breasts against Kylie’s back while her thick thighs squeezed. Then she shifted and drove her sequined ass forward into the small of Kylie’s back in repeated hard thrusts. “Feel the Turkish power from behind, idol!”

Kylie reached back, grabbed Feyza’s hair, and pulled her over into a sunset flip that turned into an ass-focused pin. She sat fully on Feyza’s face again, bouncing her golden cheeks with full force. The heavy flesh smothered completely. “This ass ends careers! And copycats!”

Feyza’s arms flailed, then found Kylie’s hips. With a sudden burst she lifted and rolled, ending up on top in a full body press once more. This time she focused entirely on grinding her sequined breasts against Kylie’s golden ones in long, slow, circular motions while her plump ass pressed down on Kylie’s thighs. The continuous soft friction made both pairs of breasts heat up and shine even more.

“I modeled my whole look after you. The lips, the body, the confidence. But tonight the Turkish Kylie shows she can hang with the original. These breasts, this ass, they are mine, inspired by you, but stronger under this Istanbul heat.”

Kylie’s eyes narrowed with respect mixed with competitive fire. She bridged explosively, throwing Feyza off, then immediately charged into a running hip attack, turning at the last second so her full golden ass crashed sideways into Feyza’s midsection and then lower into her hips. The impact sent Feyza stumbling into the ropes. Kylie followed up by spinning Feyza around and locking a standing figure-four around her head, but she used the position to grind her crotch and lower ass against Feyza’s face.

The two women traded more and more. Breast to breast collisions that left both chests red and bouncing. Ass to ass smashes that made the sequins and golden fabric shake. Smother holds where one full rear completely covered the other’s face for long seconds while the crowd counted. Trash talk flew constantly.

Kylie: “Your TikTok numbers are cute. My empire is real. These curves built it!”

Feyza: “Your empire inspired a whole generation in Turkey. Including me. Now feel what that inspiration can do!”

They locked up in the center again, arms around each other, breasts pressed tight, asses pushed out. Both women began thrusting their hips, grinding pelvis to pelvis and letting their full rears bounce off each other with every motion. Soft flesh met soft flesh in a continuous wet rhythm.

Finally Feyza managed a sudden drop, pulling Kylie into a modified Boston crab that she turned into an ass-focused stretch. She sat on Kylie’s lower back and bounced her sequined cheeks hard while pulling on the legs. Kylie countered by reaching back, grabbing Feyza’s ankles, and rolling into a pinning combination where she ended up sitting fully on Feyza’s chest, her golden ass covering the Turkish breasts completely while her own hands pinned the arms.

The referee slid in. One… two…

Feyza powered out with a desperate bridge, then scrambled into a schoolgirl roll that put her on top, her full sequined ass now planted firmly on Kylie’s face while her breasts bounced free with the effort. She ground down hard.

One… two…

Kylie kicked out with a powerful thrust of her hips, sending Feyza rolling. Both women rose slowly, bodies glistening, tops slightly askew, bottoms riding high between their cheeks. The arena was deafening.

They stood face to face one last time. Kylie spoke first, voice lower, almost admiring. “You’re not just a copy. You’re the real deal in your own right. Turkish Kylie has some power.”

Feyza smiled through heavy breaths. “And the original is still the original. But tonight we both leave something on this mat.”

They locked up again. The final exchange was pure intensity. Kylie drove forward with a series of breast smashes, each one a full-force collision of soft heavy mounds. Feyza answered with repeated ass attacks, spinning and slamming her plump rear into Kylie’s midsection and face. They ended tangled in the center, Kylie on top in a full body press, breasts flattened against Feyza’s, her golden ass raised slightly as she ground down. Feyza’s legs wrapped around Kylie’s waist, heels digging into the soft cheeks of that famous rear while her own sequined breasts heaved upward into Kylie’s.

The referee counted.

One…

Two…

Three!

The bell rang. The arena exploded. Kylie Jenner’s hand was raised, but she immediately pulled Feyza up into a tight embrace, their sweaty, oiled bodies pressing together once more, breasts and asses molding against each other in the center of the ring.

Kylie leaned close so only Feyza could hear over the roar. “You fought like someone who really studied me. Next time, Turkish Kylie… we do this again. And maybe longer.”

Feyza’s red nails rested on Kylie’s golden-clad hip as she answered. “Anytime, idol. My body is ready. And so is yours.”

They stayed locked in that embrace for a long moment under the lights, two sets of famous curves pressed tight, the crowd still chanting both names as the story of the original and the Turkish version became legend in the wrestling world.

The lights in the Istanbul arena still burned bright after the official match. The crowd had begun to settle, many already heading for the exits, when Kylie Jenner kept her arm around Feyza Akkan’s shoulders in the center of the ring. Their bodies remained pressed together, golden bikini against sparkling white sequins, soft breasts still molded against each other from the final embrace. Sweat and oil mixed between them.

Kylie leaned in close, voice soft enough that only Feyza could hear. “You really are something special. The Turkish version of me. I meant what I said. Next time we do this longer.”

Feyza smiled, still catching her breath, red nails resting lightly on Kylie’s hip. “Anytime, idol. I still cannot believe I shared a ring with you.”

Kylie nodded, then suddenly spun Feyza around so the younger woman’s back faced her. One arm locked tight around Feyza’s waist from behind. The other hand slid up and cupped one of Feyza’s full sequined breasts, squeezing hard.

“You shared a ring with me,” Kylie said, voice changing, colder now. “But you never earned the right to stand next to me.”

Before Feyza could react, Kylie drove her knee into the back of Feyza’s thigh and shoved her forward into the corner. The impact pinned Feyza’s face and chest against the turnbuckle pads. Kylie pressed her entire body against Feyza’s back, grinding her golden-clad breasts hard into Feyza’s shoulder blades while her round golden ass pushed firmly against Feyza’s sequined rear.

“You thought this was friendship? Cute. You are nothing but a cheap Turkish knockoff who got lucky with a few TikTok videos and a straw hat. People call you Turkish Kylie because they have never seen the real thing destroy a pretender.”

Feyza struggled, trying to push back. “Kylie… what are you doing? The match is over…”

Kylie laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “The match is over when I say it is over.” She grabbed both of Feyza’s arms, yanked them behind her back, and locked them with one hand. With the other she reached around and yanked the sequined triangle top upward, exposing both of Feyza’s heavy breasts completely. The soft flesh spilled free under the bright lights.

“Look at these,” Kylie sneered, grabbing both bare breasts from behind and squeezing them roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “You thought these could match mine? They are soft, yes, but they belong to a girl who still needs filters and good lighting. Mine built an empire. Yours get you likes from lonely men in Ankara.”

She mashed the breasts together, then released them so they bounced heavily. Kylie stepped back just enough to turn her body, then slammed her own golden-covered ass hard into Feyza’s bare lower back. The impact made Feyza’s exposed breasts bounce against the pads. Kylie did it again, harder, each powerful ass thrust driving Feyza deeper into the corner.

“Feel that real Jenner ass, copycat. This is what you tried to imitate. This is what you will never have.”

Feyza’s voice cracked. “Stop… the fans are watching…”

“Let them watch.” Kylie spun Feyza around so they faced each other. She locked both hands around Feyza’s throat just long enough to shove her down onto the mat on her back. Then Kylie dropped to her knees, straddled Feyza’s waist, and leaned forward. Her golden bikini top still covered her own breasts, but she pulled the triangles aside herself this time, letting her full, heavy chest spill free. She lowered them slowly until the soft flesh completely covered Feyza’s face.

“Breathe, Turkish Kylie. Breathe through the real thing.”

Kylie began grinding her bare breasts side to side across Feyza’s face, the soft heavy mounds sliding over nose, mouth, and eyes. She pressed down harder, burying Feyza completely. The younger woman’s arms pushed weakly against Kylie’s sides.

“This is what you dreamed about, is it not? Smothered under the original. Your little fan fantasy coming true in the worst way possible.”

Kylie lifted just enough for Feyza to gasp, then dropped her full weight again, this time shifting so one heavy breast covered Feyza’s entire face while the other pressed against the side of her head. She bounced slowly, letting the soft flesh slap and settle repeatedly.

“You posted all those bikini pictures thinking you looked like me. You wore the same styles. You even tried the same expressions. But the second the real one shows up, you fold. Look at you. Already struggling under a pair of breasts that actually matter.”

Feyza’s legs kicked weakly. Kylie shifted position again, spinning around so she sat fully on Feyza’s face. Her golden-covered ass, still firm and round, settled completely over Feyza’s nose and mouth. She planted her hands on Feyza’s bare breasts for balance and began bouncing her full cheeks up and down in a steady, heavy rhythm.

“Eat it. Every bounce. This is the ass that sold products worldwide. This is the ass you tried to copy with your sequined little bottom and your horse-riding thighs. Soft. Heavy. And right now it owns you.”

The crowd that remained had gone quiet, then started mixed reactions of shock and dark amusement. Kylie ignored them. She ground her ass in slow circles, pressing down harder each time, completely cutting off air. Feyza’s hands slapped at Kylie’s thighs, then grew weaker.

Kylie leaned forward, still sitting on the face, and spoke loud enough for the remaining fans to hear. “Turkish Kylie is going limp under the real Kylie. How does it feel, little copy? Your body already giving up? Those soft Turkish breasts bouncing under my hands while my ass finishes the job?”

She squeezed Feyza’s exposed breasts hard, digging her fingers deep into the soft flesh while continuing the relentless smother. “These are nothing. Soft toys. Mine are weapons. And this ass…” She bounced harder, the wet slap of flesh on face filling the quiet arena. “…this ass is going to put you to sleep.”

Feyza’s struggles slowed. Her legs twitched once, then again, weaker. Her arms fell to the mat. Kylie kept the full weight of her golden-clad rear planted firmly, grinding in tight circles, never letting up.

“Still with me, pretender? Or has the Turkish version finally learned her place?” Kylie lifted just enough to glance down. Feyza’s eyes were half-closed, body completely limp beneath her. No more resistance. No more movement.

Kylie stayed seated for several more long seconds, letting the heavy smother continue even after the limpness set in. Then she finally rose, standing over the motionless form. She looked down at Feyza’s still body, bare breasts rising and falling shallowly, sequined bottoms still in place, straw hat long gone somewhere outside the ring.

“That is what happens when a fan girl thinks she can share the spotlight with the original,” Kylie said coldly, adjusting her own top back into place. “You wanted to be Turkish Kylie. Tonight you learned the real one does not share. She takes. And she leaves the copy on the mat where she belongs.”

She stepped over Feyza’s limp form, paused one last time, and delivered one final hard stomp of her golden-clad ass downward onto Feyza’s face, a last heavy press that made the soft cheeks spread fully across the unmoving features.

“Stay down, copycat. The real thing just reminded everyone who the original is.”

Kylie climbed out of the ring without looking back, leaving Feyza Akkan’s limp body in the center of the mat under the bright lights, the humiliation complete.

Kylie Jenner stepped back into the ring one last time, phone already in her hand. The arena lights still shone down on Feyza Akkan’s limp body stretched across the mat. Bare breasts rose and fell in shallow breaths. Sequined bottoms still clung between her thighs. Dark hair spread across the canvas. The Turkish influencer who had entered the night as the proud “Turkish Kylie” now lay completely still, the result of the prolonged smother under the real thing.

Kylie stood over her for a moment, golden bikini top back in place, round ass still gleaming with oil and sweat. She raised the phone and began snapping photos from every angle.

First she crouched low beside Feyza’s head and captured a close shot of the younger woman’s face still marked by the deep imprint of Kylie’s golden-clad cheeks. Then she straddled the limp body again, this time without sitting fully, and took several photos of her own bare thighs framing Feyza’s exposed chest. She reached down, cupped both of Feyza’s soft breasts with one hand, squeezed them together hard so the flesh spilled between her fingers, and snapped the image while smiling coldly at the camera.

“Smile for the fans, copycat,” she murmured, even though Feyza could not hear. “Your soft Turkish tits look so much better under my hand.”

She shifted position, turning so her golden-covered ass filled the frame directly above Feyza’s face. She lowered herself just enough for the soft cheeks to press lightly against the limp features again, then snapped a series of photos showing the clear dominance. One more bounce of her full rear onto the unmoving face, a final wet slap of flesh, and another photo.

Kylie stood, scrolled through the images, and began posting them one by one to her private story and main feed. The captions were short and merciless.

First photo: Feyza’s limp body on the mat, breasts bare, face still pressed into the canvas.

Caption: “Turkish Kylie after meeting the original. Soft. Quiet. Exactly where a copy belongs.”

Second photo: Kylie’s hand firmly squeezing both of Feyza’s exposed breasts.

Caption: “These were supposed to match mine. Cute try. Reality hits different.”

Third photo: Kylie’s golden-clad ass hovering inches above Feyza’s face, the imprint of the earlier smother still visible.

Caption: “She wanted to be Turkish Kylie so badly she ended up eating the real Jenner ass until her body went limp. Some dreams come true the hard way.”

Fourth photo: A wider shot of Kylie standing over the motionless form, one foot planted beside Feyza’s hip, phone in hand.

Caption: “Match over. Lesson delivered. The original does not share the spotlight. Especially not with a knockoff from Ankara.”

She added one final story slide, a short video this time. The camera pointed down at Feyza’s still form while Kylie’s voice spoke clearly.

“Hey everyone. Just finished reminding a certain someone who the real Kylie is. She walked in calling herself Turkish Kylie. She left the ring completely limp under these.” The camera tilted briefly to show Kylie’s own full golden-covered chest and then her round ass. “Some fans learn the hard way. Soft body, soft spirit. Mine stay on top.”

Kylie hit send. Within seconds the posts began circulating. Comments flooded in. Some shocked. Many laughing. A few already saving the images. She watched the numbers climb for a moment, then looked down at Feyza one last time.

“Sleep well, little copy. The whole world just saw what happens when you try to stand next to the original and forget your place.”

She stepped out of the ring, phone still in hand, golden curves shining under the lights, leaving the limp body of the Turkish influencer alone on the mat while the photos of her total humiliation spread across every feed.

Match day arrived under the bright lights of a mid-sized arena that AEW had booked for a special house show. The crowd was already loud when Anna Jay stepped through the curtain in her full red gear. The cropped jacket covered in silver stars caught every flash, the matching high-waisted bottoms and thigh-highs glittering as she walked. Her long blonde hair was pulled back, red choker tight around her neck, and she carried herself with the same fire she always brought to the ring. She had spent the last two days replaying every second of the beach and every word of that X exchange. Tonight she planned to settle it.

Then Jazmin Allure’s music hit.

Anna’s eyes locked onto the entrance ramp as Jazmin strutted out in a shimmering purple and silver outfit that looked painted on. The top was a strappy, studded crop that left her midriff bare. The bottoms were high-cut and glossy, crossed with thick silver straps that wrapped around her hips and thighs. But it was the back that made Anna’s steps falter for half a second.

Jazmin’s ass was unreal. The fabric of the purple trunks was stretched so tight that it nearly disappeared between those heavy, round cheeks. A deep natural wedgie had already formed, the material swallowed almost completely by the cleft, leaving the full shape of both globes on display with only a thin strip of purple visible. Every step made the cheeks bounce and flex, the wedgie digging even deeper. Anna felt a flicker of shock run through her. Her own ass looked strong and full in the red gear, the high-cut bottoms hugging her curves nicely, but she did not have that kind of depth, that kind of pure, fabric-devouring thickness.

Jazmin caught the look and smirked as she climbed the steps. She turned her back deliberately toward Anna while the referee checked them both, giving the entire front row a clear view of how completely her cheeks had eaten the trunks.

“Like what you see, jobber?” Jazmin said under her breath as they faced off in the center. “Your little red outfit is cute. Mine actually has something to hold.”

Anna’s jaw clenched. “Keep talking. I’m putting you on your back tonight.”

The bell rang.

Anna shot in fast, looking for a waistlock, but Jazmin was ready. She sprawled, shoved Anna’s head down, and immediately hopped up, dropping her full weight into a hard sitting senton that drove Anna flat. Before Anna could move, Jazmin spun around, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her face straight between those massive cheeks.

The deep wedgie pressed right against Anna’s nose and mouth. Jazmin sat down fully, grinding side to side so the soft, heavy flesh completely sealed Anna in.

“Breathe it in,” Jazmin ordered, voice loud enough for the hard-camera side to hear. “That’s the same ass that owned you on the beach. Only now the whole arena gets to watch you eat it.”

She stayed seated, bouncing lightly, each drop forcing Anna’s face deeper into the cleft. The purple fabric was so far gone between the cheeks that Anna’s lips were pressed against bare skin on both sides. Jazmin reached back, grabbed Anna’s wrists, and pinned them to the mat while she worked her hips in slow, deliberate circles.

“Tap if you love it. Oh wait, you can’t talk with my ass in your face. Perfect.”

Anna finally managed to bridge and roll, gasping as she scrambled to her knees. She threw a pair of stiff forearms that staggered Jazmin for a moment, then tried to whip her into the corner. Jazmin reversed the Irish whip, sent Anna crashing into the turnbuckle, and charged in with a running hip attack that folded her. Instantly Jazmin turned, backed up, and sat down hard again, smothering Anna’s face once more against the ropes.

This time she hooked her legs under the bottom rope for extra leverage and leaned all her weight back, grinding the deep wedgie across Anna’s mouth and nose.

“Look at the crowd,” Jazmin taunted, pointing outward while still seated. “They’re all watching the AEW girl get turned into a face cushion. How does it feel knowing every phone in here is recording this?”

She finally stood, hauled Anna up by the hair, and threw her to the mat. Anna tried a springboard forearm, but Jazmin caught her in mid-air, spun her around, and dropped her face-first into another brutal face-sitting pin. The referee counted to two before Anna kicked out, but the damage was already stacking.

Jazmin dragged her to the center of the ring and forced her onto all fours. She climbed onto Anna’s back, reached forward, and pulled Anna’s head up so the entire arena could see the red face and glassy eyes. Then she sat down fully on Anna’s shoulders, facing forward, and lowered her ass until the deep wedgie was pressed against the back of Anna’s head.

“Tandem practice paid off,” Jazmin said, grinding hard. “Jailyne isn’t even here and you’re still getting destroyed. Imagine how much worse it would be if she was. You’re nothing without someone to save you, and tonight nobody is coming.”

Anna’s arms gave out. She collapsed forward. Jazmin stayed seated, shifting her weight from cheek to cheek, making sure every inch of that thick, fabric-swallowing ass dragged across Anna’s face. The crowd’s reaction mixed cheers and shocked laughter as Jazmin raised both arms in victory while still smothering her opponent.

She finally rolled off, pulled Anna up one last time, and locked in a brutal camel clutch, forcing Anna’s face upward so the cameras caught every expression of pain and humiliation. After a long hold she released it only to drop into one final, crushing face-sit, this time with both knees planted on Anna’s arms so there was zero chance of escape.

“This is worse than the beach,” Jazmin whispered down at her, hips working in slow, heavy circles. “Because this time the whole world is watching the jobber get owned. Remember this feeling. Every time you put on that red gear you’re going to think about my ass swallowing these trunks while it swallowed your pride.”

She held the smother until Anna’s body went limp beneath her. Only then did Jazmin rise, place one boot on Anna’s chest, and raise both arms to the roaring crowd. The referee called for the bell. Jazmin looked down at the broken AEW wrestler and smirked.

The bell had already rung and the referee was trying to clear the ring, but Jazmin Allure was nowhere near finished. She waved the official off with a sharp look and kept Anna Jay pinned under one knee in the center of the mat while the crowd still roared. Anna’s red gear was scuffed and damp with sweat, her blonde hair stuck to her face, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Jazmin’s purple trunks remained buried deep between her own cheeks, the natural wedgie even more pronounced after the match.

“Stay down,” Jazmin ordered, voice carrying over the noise. “We’re not done. The match is over. The real show starts now.”

She dragged Anna up by the hair and forced her onto all fours near the ropes. Jazmin dropped to her knees behind her, grabbed the waistband of Anna’s red bottoms with both hands, and yanked upward hard. The fabric of Anna’s trunks was immediately pulled deep into the cleft of her ass, creating a sudden, tight wedgie that split her cheeks wide. Anna’s back arched and a sharp, involuntary moan slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Jazmin laughed loud enough for the front rows to hear. “There it is. You jealous of my natural wedgie, jobber? Look at you. One little pull and you’re already moaning. My ass swallows this purple fabric on its own. Yours needed help. But now you look almost as good as me.”

She yanked higher, digging the red material even deeper until it disappeared completely between Anna’s cheeks. Anna’s thighs trembled. Another moan escaped, softer this time, mixed with a frustrated whimper. Jazmin kept the tension with one hand while the other came down in a hard, open-palm spank that cracked across Anna’s right cheek.

“That’s for the bottle on the beach,” Jazmin said, and spanked the left side just as hard. The sound echoed. Anna jerked forward but Jazmin held the wedgie tight, keeping her in place.

She shifted positions, rolling Anna onto her back and climbing over her in a full mount. Jazmin reached back, grabbed both of Anna’s ankles, and folded her nearly in half so Anna’s own ass was lifted toward her face. Then Jazmin sat down heavily, smothering Anna’s face under the thick purple cheeks while still holding the deep red wedgie in place with her free hand.

“Breathe through my ass while I play with yours,” Jazmin taunted, grinding in slow circles. “You spent the whole match staring at how deep my trunks go. Now you get to feel what a real wedgie is like from the other side.”

She released the fold only to spin around and sit facing the opposite direction, still keeping Anna’s bottoms pulled high and tight. Jazmin reached down and delivered a series of sharp, rhythmic spanks, alternating cheeks, each one making the red fabric dig a little deeper. Anna’s moans grew louder, half pain and half something she clearly did not want the crowd to hear.

Jazmin dragged her to the corner next. She forced Anna to stand facing the turnbuckles, bent her forward over the middle rope, and yanked the wedgie up so hard that Anna rose onto her toes. Then Jazmin stepped in behind her, pressed her own heavy ass against Anna’s hip, and started spanking again, harder now, the cracks ringing out one after another.

“Listen to you,” Jazmin mocked between strikes. “Moaning like this in front of everyone because I gave you a wedgie. You’re supposed to be the tough AEW girl. Instead you’re bent over the ropes with your ass split open, taking spanks like you were made for it.”

She spun Anna around so they were face to face, shoved her back against the buckles, and sat down on the middle rope herself, pulling Anna’s head forward and forcing her face between those thick purple cheeks one more time. While Anna was smothered, Jazmin reached around and kept the red wedgie pulled high, delivering short, sharp spanks to the exposed underside of Anna’s ass.

“Jealous little jobber,” Jazmin said, voice muffled by her own position but still clear enough. “My wedgie is natural. Yours is a gift from me. And every time you sit down for the next week you’re going to feel it and remember who put it there.”

She finally stood, hauled Anna to the center of the ring once more, and dropped into a seated position with Anna face-down across her lap. Jazmin locked one arm around Anna’s waist to hold her still and used the other to rain down a steady stream of hard spanks, never releasing the deep wedgie. Anna’s moans turned into broken, gasping sounds with every impact. The crowd’s reaction mixed shock and laughter as Jazmin kept the pace, cheeks bouncing under the red fabric that had long since disappeared between them.

Only when Anna’s body went limp across her thighs did Jazmin stop. She gave one final, deliberate yank on the wedgie, then shoved Anna off her lap onto the mat. Anna landed on her side, red bottoms still buried deep, face flushed and eyes glassy.

Jazmin stood over her, hands on her hips, purple trunks still swallowed by her own thick ass, and looked down with pure satisfaction.

“Post-match lesson” she said. “Next time you talk shit on X, remember how your own gear looked after I was done with it. And remember how loud you moaned when I made you match me.”

She stepped over Anna’s body, made sure the cameras caught the deep natural wedgie.

Jazmin was not ready to leave the ring. The referee had given up trying to usher her out and simply stood near the ropes while the crowd stayed on its feet. Anna still lay on her side in the center of the mat, red gear twisted, the deep wedgie Jazmin had given her still buried between her cheeks. Jazmin walked a slow circle around her, purple trunks swallowed almost completely by her own thick ass, and decided the post-match show needed more.

She grabbed Anna by the hair and dragged her toward the first corner. “Every turnbuckle gets a turn,” Jazmin announced. “You’re going to taste this ass in all four corners before I let you crawl out of here.”

She shoved Anna’s face into the padding of the first corner, then turned around, backed up, and dropped into a hard stinkface. Her heavy cheeks smashed against Anna’s face, the deep natural wedgie pressing right against her nose and mouth. Jazmin ground side to side, working her hips in slow, deliberate circles while the crowd reacted with a mix of cheers and shocked laughter.

“Smell it,” Jazmin ordered. “That’s the same ass that owned you for fifteen minutes. Now it owns you in the corner too.”

She held the stinkface for a long count, bouncing lightly so the soft flesh slapped against Anna’s cheeks with every drop. When she finally stepped away, Anna’s face was red and shiny. Jazmin did not give her time to recover. She dragged her straight to the second corner and repeated the move, this time longer, grinding harder, one hand on the top rope for leverage while she smothered Anna completely.

“Corner number two,” she taunted. “You’re already shaking. Keep breathing through it, jobber. We’ve got two more to go.”

At the third corner Jazmin changed the angle. She forced Anna to her knees facing outward, then sat down on the middle rope and pulled Anna’s head backward so her face was trapped under the full weight of those purple-covered cheeks from above. The stinkface came down vertical this time, Jazmin’s ass enveloping Anna’s face while she rocked forward and back.

“Vertical version,” Jazmin said, voice full of cruel amusement. “Feel how deep that wedgie goes against your nose. That’s natural. You needed me to pull yours. Mine just happens.”

She finished the third corner with a series of short, sharp hip thrusts that drove her ass harder into Anna’s face, then dragged the half-limp AEW wrestler to the final turnbuckle. The fourth stinkface was the longest. Jazmin planted both hands on the top rope, lowered herself slowly, and stayed seated, grinding in full circles while Anna’s muffled sounds vibrated against her skin.

“Four corners,” Jazmin declared when she finally stood. “Every single one marked by my ass. Now we move to the facesits.”

She hauled Anna back to the center of the ring and dropped into the first variation: a standard reverse facesit, knees planted on either side of Anna’s head, full weight settled on her face. Jazmin leaned forward, hands on Anna’s thighs, and began bouncing in a steady rhythm.

“Basic sit,” she said. “Just so you remember the feeling.”

She switched without warning into a forward facesit, spinning around so she was looking down at Anna’s body while her ass still smothered her face. This time she reached back and held Anna’s wrists to the mat, grinding in slow figure-eights.

“Forward version. I get to watch you squirm while you eat it.”

Next she moved into a side facesit, shifting her weight onto one cheek only, pressing the deep wedgie against Anna’s mouth from an angle that left half her face exposed to the hard-camera side. The crowd could clearly see Anna’s expression as Jazmin rocked left and right.

“Side angle for the cameras,” Jazmin mocked. “Smile for them while my ass covers the rest of you.”

She rose only long enough to drag Anna closer to the ropes, then dropped into a rope-assisted facesit, using the middle rope for extra downward pressure. Her cheeks spread wider under the added force, completely sealing Anna in.

“Rope help,” she said. “Because you don’t deserve the easy version anymore.”

After a long hold she switched again, this time into a stacked facesit. She forced Anna onto her hands and knees, climbed on top of her back, and sat down facing the opposite direction so her ass pressed against the back of Anna’s head while her weight drove Anna’s face into the mat.

“Stacked. My ass on the back of your head, your face in the mat. Double pressure.”

Anna’s arms finally gave out. Jazmin stayed seated for another long stretch, then rolled her over and moved into the last facesit variation: a full-body smother where she lay back across Anna’s face and upper chest, using every bit of her weight and the thick curve of her ass to keep Anna trapped.

“And the lazy one,” Jazmin said, stretching her arms above her head like she was relaxing. “I don’t even have to try and you’re still drowning under it.”

When she finally stood, Anna was barely moving. Jazmin was still not finished. She pulled Anna up to a seated position against the ropes and began the hip attacks.

The first was a running hip attack from the opposite side of the ring, Jazmin charging forward and driving her thick ass and hip squarely into Anna’s face, folding her against the ropes. She backed up and repeated it immediately, harder.

“Hip attack one and two,” she counted. “Feel that bounce.”

She switched to a standing hip thrust, grabbing Anna’s hair for control and repeatedly slamming her own hip and cheek into Anna’s face in short, sharp bursts.

“Standing variation. I control the pace.”

Next came a corner hip attack. Jazmin shoved Anna into the turnbuckle, backed up three steps, and launched herself forward, driving her ass into Anna’s midsection and face with enough force to fold her completely. She did it three times in a row.

“Corner version. You already know these turnbuckles. Now they know my hips.”

She dragged Anna to the center again and dropped into a seated hip drop, rising up on her knees and slamming her ass down across Anna’s face and chest in a series of heavy drops.

“Seated drops. Count them with me. One. Two. Three. Four.”

Each impact drew a fresh reaction from the crowd. Jazmin finished the sequence with a spinning hip attack, turning as she charged so that the full width of her ass crashed into Anna’s face from a rotating angle, sending her sprawling flat.

“And the spin,” Jazmin said, standing over her. “Just to make sure every part of my ass has touched every part of your face.”

She looked down at Anna’s limp form, purple trunks still buried deep between her own cheeks, and gave one final, slow stinkface right in the middle of the ring, grinding until Anna’s arms and legs stopped twitching.

“Post-match remembrance” Jazmin announced, rising one last time. “You wanted a real ring. You got one. And you got my ass in every corner, every position, and every variation I felt like giving you. Remember all of it.”

She stepped over Anna’s body, made sure the cameras caught the deep natural wedgie once more, and finally headed up the ramp, leaving the AEW wrestler motionless in the center of the ring under the bright lights.

Jazmin was already halfway to the ramp when she changed her mind. She turned back, walked straight to Anna’s limp body in the center of the ring, and reached down with both hands. She grabbed Anna’s face hard, fingers digging into her cheeks and jaw, and forced her head up so the entire arena could see the red, sweaty, broken expression.

“Look at the cameras,” Jazmin ordered, voice loud and clear. “Smile for them. Show everyone what an AEW star looks like after I’m done with her.”

She hauled Anna up into a kneeling position, still gripping her face tightly, and turned them both toward the hard-camera side. Jazmin stood tall behind her, one hand clamped under Anna’s chin, the other spreading across her cheek, forcing Anna’s head high while she posed. She cocked her own hip, making sure the deep natural wedgie in her purple trunks was on full display, and raised her free arm to the crowd.

The flashes from phones and the official cameras lit up the ring. Jazmin held the pose, grinding her thick ass lightly against the back of Anna’s head while she kept Anna’s face locked toward the lenses.

“This is the money shot,” she announced. “Jobber on her knees, my hand on her face, my ass still owning her. Take all the pictures you want. Tag me in every single one.”

She shifted the grip, now holding Anna’s face with both hands from the front, thumbs pressing into her cheeks, and leaned down so their faces were close. Jazmin turned them toward the other side of the arena, posing again, chest out, purple-covered cheeks pushed back for the crowd behind her.

“Say cheese, Anna,” she mocked. “Or just keep that empty look. It suits you better anyway.”

The crowd responded with a fresh wave of cheers and laughter. Jazmin milked it. She forced Anna onto all fours, grabbed a fistful of blonde hair with one hand and the side of her face with the other, and posed once more, this time looking straight into the nearest camera while she pushed Anna’s face toward the mat and then yanked it back up.

“One more for the timeline,” Jazmin said. “Post-match trophy presentation. I won the match. I won the beach. And now I get the photo op.”

She held the final pose longer than the others, making sure every angle of Anna’s defeated expression and her own dominant stance was captured. Only when she was satisfied did she shove Anna back down onto the mat, give one last glance at the cameras, and finally walk out of the ring, leaving the AEW wrestler crumpled under the lights while the crowd kept chanting and the phones kept recording.

PART 1 - https://www.reddit.com/r/WomenWrestling_FANFIC/s/ixVB5jL1v4

Anna Jay stood on the white sand of the private beach resort, the turquoise water lapping near her feet as she adjusted the thin straps of her taupe bikini. The sun had already kissed her skin a deep golden bronze, her long blonde-highlighted hair still damp from an earlier swim. She held two strawberries, one in each hand, taking a slow bite from one while scanning the shoreline. As an AEW star known for her work in the Dark Order and her high-flying, hard-hitting style, Anna carried herself with the confidence of someone who had main-evented big shows and survived brutal matches. Today was supposed to be pure relaxation.

That changed the moment she spotted Jazmin Allure walking toward her along the water’s edge.

Jazmin moved with a confident sway, her long dark hair flowing behind her, the black string bikini clinging to every curve. The Puerto Rican flag nearby fluttered in the breeze, and Jazmin’s full lips were already curled into a smirk as her eyes locked onto Anna. She stopped a few feet away, planted one hand on her hip, and looked the AEW wrestler up and down like she was inspecting defective merchandise.

“Well, well,” Jazmin said, her voice dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t Anna Jay. The professional jobber herself. What are you doing on a real beach instead of eating pins in some empty arena for a paycheck?”

Anna’s jaw tightened. She tossed the strawberries aside and squared her shoulders. “Excuse me? You must have me confused with someone else. I’m an AEW original. I’ve been in the ring with the best. Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Jazmin laughed, loud and sharp. “I’m Jazmin Allure, sweetheart. And from what I’ve seen of your matches, you’re the one who always ends up on her back staring at the lights. Jobber energy all over you. That little Dark Order thing? Cute. Real cute. Must be nice having friends carry you while you collect losses.”

Anna stepped closer, sand kicking up around her ankles. “You talk a lot for someone who’s never stepped foot in a real ring. You want to keep running your mouth, or you want to prove something?”

Jazmin’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I would love that. You challenging me? Right here? Right now?”

“Wrestle me,” Anna said, voice low and serious. “No cameras. No referees. Just you and me. If you’re half as tough as your mouth, prove it.”

Jazmin cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. “Deal. I’m going to make you regret every word. When I’m done, you’ll be the one eating sand and apologizing for existing.”

They circled each other on the open stretch of beach. The few other people nearby had already started drifting away, sensing the tension. Anna shot in first, going for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but Jazmin was quicker than she looked. She shoved Anna’s arms aside, hooked a leg, and dumped her hard onto the sand with a basic but effective hip toss. Anna hit with a grunt, the impact knocking the wind out of her for a second.

Jazmin didn’t give her time to recover. She dropped to a knee, grabbed Anna by the hair, and dragged her face-first between her thick thighs. “Smell that, jobber? That’s what a real woman smells like.” She clamped her legs tight around Anna’s head and sat down fully, smothering her against the soft, firm cheeks of her ass. Anna’s muffled protests vibrated against Jazmin’s skin as the Puerto Rican woman ground slowly side to side, pressing harder.

“Tap if you can’t breathe,” Jazmin taunted, looking down. “Oh wait, you can’t talk with my ass in your face. Perfect.”

Anna thrashed, trying to dig her fingers under Jazmin’s legs, but the pressure was relentless. Jazmin finally released the hold only to spin around, plant both hands on Anna’s shoulders, and lower herself again, this time reverse, grinding her bikini-clad ass directly onto Anna’s face. She bounced lightly, each drop driving Anna deeper into the sand.

“How’s the view from down there, AEW girl? You look good under me. Maybe this is your real calling. Full-time face cushion.”

Anna managed to roll out and scramble to her knees, gasping. Sand stuck to her cheeks and lips. She lunged forward and locked her arms around Jazmin’s waist, driving her backward into the sand with a takedown. For a moment it looked like Anna had the upper hand as she climbed on top and started raining down short punches. Jazmin absorbed two, then three, before bridging hard and reversing the position. In one fluid motion she hooked Anna’s leg, flipped her over, and dragged her face right back between her cheeks again.

This time Jazmin stayed seated longer. She leaned forward, hands on Anna’s thighs, and started working her hips in slow, deliberate circles, smothering every attempt Anna made to breathe freely. “Jobber. Jobber. Jobber,” she chanted with each grind. “That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be. Take it. Take every second of it.”

When she finally stood, Anna lay there coughing, face red, eyes watery. Jazmin planted a foot on Anna’s stomach and pressed down. “Stay down where you belong.” She turned and started walking away toward the water, hips swaying, already laughing to herself.

Anna’s vision blurred with rage and humiliation. She spotted an open bottle of champagne half-buried in the sand near a beach chair, left behind by some earlier party. With the last of her strength she pushed herself up, grabbed the bottle by the neck, and staggered after Jazmin.

“Hey!” she shouted.

Jazmin turned just in time for the bottle to smash across the side of her head. The glass didn’t shatter completely, but the impact dropped Jazmin to one knee, dazed, one hand flying to her temple. Anna stood over her, breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes.

“Not so tough now,” Anna growled. She shoved Jazmin onto her back and climbed on, straddling her chest. “My turn. You’re going to feel every bit of what you just did to me.”

She started to lower herself, ready to reverse the humiliation, when a sharp voice cut across the beach.

“Hey! Get the fuck off her!”

Both women looked up. Jailyne Ojeda Ochoa was storming across the sand in a black string bikini that barely contained her curves, long black hair whipping behind her, red nails flashing in the sunlight. The Mexican fitness influencer and social media star looked furious. She had been lounging by the nearby rock pool and had clearly seen everything.

“You fight dirty against one of us?” Jailyne snapped, pointing at Anna. “You hit her with a bottle like a coward and think that’s okay? That’s my sister in the game. Mexico’s superstar doesn’t get treated like that by some AEW jobber.”

Anna scrambled off Jazmin and raised her hands. “She started it. She was trash-talking me first.”

Jailyne didn’t care. She closed the distance in three long strides and drove a stiff palm into Anna’s chest, sending her stumbling backward. Before Anna could recover, Jailyne grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her forward, slamming Anna’s face straight into the deep cleavage of her bikini top. She held her there, smothering her between her large breasts while grinding side to side.

“Breathe through these if you can, puta,” Jailyne hissed. “You want to fight dirty? I’ll show you dirty.”

She shoved Anna down onto the sand, dropped into a full mount, and immediately spun around, planting her thick ass directly onto Anna’s face. The weight was heavier than Jazmin’s, the cheeks fuller, the pressure absolute. Jailyne reached back, grabbed Anna’s wrists, and pinned them to the sand while bouncing her hips.

“How does it feel having Mexican ass crushing your face? You like that? Because you’re going to get a lot more of it.”

Anna’s legs kicked uselessly. Jailyne stayed seated for a long, deliberate minute, only rising long enough to drag Anna a few feet closer to the water’s edge before dropping back down again, this time facing the other direction so Anna’s nose was buried deeper. She worked her hips in slow figure-eights, making sure every inch of her cheeks ground across Anna’s mouth and nose.

Jazmin had recovered enough to sit up, still rubbing the side of her head. She watched with a growing smile as Jailyne continued the assault. “That’s it, girl. Make the jobber suffer.”

Jailyne finally stood, hauled Anna up by the hair, and threw her toward Jazmin. “She’s all yours again. Let’s finish this together.”

Jazmin caught Anna and immediately spun her around, forcing her face back between her own cheeks while Jailyne stepped in from the front. The two women pressed in tight, sandwiching Anna’s head completely. Jazmin’s ass smothered her from behind while Jailyne’s breasts crushed against her face from the front. They moved in sync, grinding and pressing, laughing as Anna’s muffled cries grew weaker.

“Look at her,” Jazmin said. “The big AEW star reduced to a face cushion for both of us.”

Jailyne reached down and slapped Anna’s thigh hard. “This is what happens when you try to fight dirty against someone from our side. You get destroyed. You get humiliated. And you stay down.”

They kept the double smother going until Anna’s struggles faded to weak twitches. Only then did they release her, letting her collapse face-first into the wet sand near the waterline. Jailyne helped Jazmin to her feet, brushing sand off her friend’s back, while both of them looked down at Anna’s still form.

Jazmin planted one foot on the back of Anna’s head, pressing her face deeper into the sand. “Jobber. Remember that word. It’s yours now.”

Jailyne crouched down, grabbed a handful of Anna’s hair, and lifted her head just enough so she could speak. “Next time you see either of us, you keep walking. Understand? Mexico and Puerto Rico just taught you a lesson you won’t forget.”

Anna could only manage a weak, broken nod before her face dropped back into the sand. The two women stood over her for another long moment, trading satisfied looks.

Jazmin stood over Anna’s crumpled body, still breathing hard from the champagne bottle shot but already recovering her smirk. She glanced at Jailyne, who was wiping a bit of sand from her own thigh, then looked back down at the AEW wrestler lying face-first in the wet sand.

“You know what?” Jazmin said, her voice low and mean. “This isn’t enough. She hit me with a bottle like a cheap coward. I want her humiliated so bad she never forgets this beach. You and me, together. Full tandem. We take turns crushing her, then we hit her at the same time until she can’t even crawl.”

Jailyne’s eyes lit up with pure malice. She cracked her knuckles, the red nails gleaming in the sun. “I like the way you think. Mexico and Puerto Rico running a clinic on this jobber. Let’s break her properly.”

Anna tried to push herself up on shaky arms. “Get… get away from me…”

Jazmin laughed and shoved her back down with one foot. “Shut up. You’re not talking. You’re taking.”

They dragged Anna farther up the beach where the sand was softer and drier, away from the waterline. Jazmin sat down first, spreading her thick thighs and pulling Anna’s face straight between them. She clamped her legs tight and sat fully, smothering Anna’s entire face under the heavy weight of her ass.

“First lesson of the tandem,” Jazmin taunted, grinding in slow circles. “You breathe when we say you breathe. And right now I’m saying you don’t.”

Jailyne stepped in front of them, grabbed Anna’s wrists, and pinned them to the sand above her head. Then she dropped to her knees, leaned forward, and pressed her full breasts right against the back of Jazmin’s ass, sandwiching Anna’s head even tighter between the two of them. The pressure was crushing. Anna’s muffled cries vibrated uselessly against Jazmin’s cheeks while Jailyne’s soft, heavy breasts sealed off any remaining air from the other side.

“Feel that?” Jailyne hissed. “That’s two of us. You’re nothing under both of us. Jobber trash getting the full treatment.”

They held the double smother for a long time, Jazmin bouncing lightly while Jailyne ground her chest forward. When they finally released, Anna gasped and coughed, sand stuck to her lips and cheeks. She barely had time to suck in one full breath before Jailyne spun around, straddled her chest, and dropped her own thick ass directly onto Anna’s face.

“My turn to sit,” Jailyne said, working her hips in deep figure-eights. “Mexican ass tastes better than Puerto Rican, doesn’t it? Tell me. Oh wait, you can’t.”

Jazmin moved to Anna’s legs, hooked both of them under her arms, and started folding Anna into a tight package while Jailyne continued the smother. Every time Anna tried to thrash, Jazmin tightened the hold and Jailyne pressed harder.

“Tandem attack number two,” Jazmin called out. “I control the body, she owns the face. You feel that, Anna? This is what real women do to jobbers who think they can fight dirty.”

They switched again. Jazmin stood, hauled Anna up by the hair, and forced her onto all fours. Jailyne dropped to her knees in front of Anna and shoved her face straight into the deep cleavage of her black bikini top, smothering her between those heavy breasts while grinding side to side. At the same time Jazmin climbed onto Anna’s back, sat down hard on her shoulders, and reached forward to grab the back of Anna’s head, pushing her even deeper into Jailyne’s chest.

“Double front and back,” Jazmin laughed. “Breasts in your face, my ass on your back. You’re our little toy now. Say thank you. Louder. I can’t hear you through all that soft Mexican meat.”

Anna’s arms gave out. She collapsed forward, but the two women just adjusted. Jailyne lay back on the sand, pulled Anna’s face between her thighs, and locked her legs around her head in a tight scissors while Jazmin straddled Anna’s lower back and sat fully on her, facing the opposite direction so her own ass pressed down on the back of Anna’s head. The combined weight drove Anna’s face deep into the sand and into Jailyne’s soft cheeks at the same time.

“Tandem number three,” Jailyne said, voice full of cruel delight. “Scissors and sit. You’re not going anywhere. You’re just going to stay right here and take it while we talk about how pathetic you look.”

Jazmin reached back and slapped Anna’s bare thigh hard. “AEW star? More like AEW face cushion. Dark Order? More like dark under our asses. You ever think this is how your career ends? Getting destroyed on a beach by two girls who aren’t even wrestlers?”

They stayed locked in that position for what felt like forever, both women shifting their weight, grinding, bouncing, making sure Anna never got a clean breath. When they finally rolled off, Anna lay limp, chest heaving, face red and covered in sand and sweat.

Jazmin wasn’t done. She looked at Jailyne with a wicked grin. “One more. The big one. We both sit at the same time. Full weight. No mercy.”

Jailyne nodded. They forced Anna onto her back. Jazmin straddled her face and lowered her thick ass down, smothering her completely. At the same moment Jailyne straddled Anna’s chest, facing the opposite direction, and dropped her own heavy cheeks right on top of Jazmin’s, stacking their asses together so the combined pressure crushed Anna’s face under twice the weight.

The two women leaned into each other, laughing, grinding in opposite directions so Anna’s head was rocked and smothered from every angle. Jazmin reached down and pinched Anna’s nose through the soft flesh while Jailyne bounced lightly.

“This is the tandem finale,” Jazmin said, voice thick with pleasure. “Two asses, one jobber. You feel how heavy we are? That’s the weight of your humiliation. You’re never living this down. Every time you walk into an AEW arena you’re going to remember this beach and these two asses crushing the life out of you.”

Jailyne added, “Mexico and Puerto Rico just retired your pride, puta. Stay down. Stay quiet. And remember who owns you right now.”

They held the stacked smother until Anna’s body went completely still beneath them, only the faintest twitches left in her fingers. Only then did they slowly rise, looking down at the broken AEW wrestler with pure satisfaction.

Jazmin dusted sand off her thighs and offered Jailyne a hand up. “That was perfect. She’ll be tasting us for weeks.”

Jailyne smirked, adjusting her bikini top. “Any time you want to run the tandem again, just say the word. This jobber isn’t going anywhere.”

They left Anna lying there in the sand, face up, eyes half-open and empty, the two of them walking off toward the rock pool side by side, already talking about how good it had felt to break her together.

Two days later the sun was lower over the same stretch of coastline when Anna Jay finally picked up her phone. Her body still carried the bruises and the deep muscle ache from the beach, but the humiliation burned hotter than any of it. She opened X, stared at the blank compose box for a long minute, then started typing with sharp, angry thumbs.

The post went up at 7:14 p.m.

“@JazminAllure you talk all that shit on a beach when your friend is there to jump in. Real cute. You needed Jailyne to save your ass after I cracked you with that bottle. You’re a scared bitch who can’t stand on her own. You want to prove you’re not just mouth? Step in a real ring. AEW rules. No sand. No help. Just you and me. Name the time and place or keep hiding behind Mexico’s Instagram model. I’m waiting, jobber.”

She hit send, then sat back against the headboard of her hotel room and watched the notifications start to climb.

Twenty-three minutes later Jazmin Allure’s reply appeared.

“@AnnaJayAEW lol the AEW jobber finally found her phone. Cute little caption, sweetheart. You swung a bottle like a coward and still ended up face-down under two asses. I didn’t need anyone to ‘save’ me. I was already beating the pride out of you when Jailyne decided to join the party. And she can join whenever she wants because unlike you, I actually have people who respect me. You want a real ring? Fine. I’ll meet you in one. But don’t cry when I drag you around that mat the same way I dragged you through the sand. You already know what my ass tastes like. Next time the whole arena gets to watch you eat it. Keep talking, Dark Order reject. I’m not scared of you. I’m just deciding how long I want to play with my food before I put you away for good.”

Jazmin hit post, locked her phone, and smiled at the screen as the first wave of quotes and replies started rolling in.

PART 2 - https://www.reddit.com/r/WomenWrestling_FANFIC/s/UysmdFknQo

Nikki stood tall in the center of the ring, one hand still raised by the referee while the other rested on her hip. Her full breasts rose and fell with every deep breath, the black and red mesh top stretched tight across them, shiny with sweat. She looked down at Saraya still sitting on the mat and let out a low, mocking laugh that carried through the arena mic the referee had handed her.

“Look at you. All that talk about British heat and you just got put on your back by these.” Nikki cupped her own breasts for a second, lifting them slightly so the crowd could see the weight of them bounce back into place. “You wanna part 2 babe? Say the word. I’ll give you another round right now and smother that pretty face again until you tap out with your mouth full of Bella.”

Saraya wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and pushed herself up to one knee. The red and black checkered top clung to her chest, the metal studs and chains shifting with every movement. She glared up at Nikki but there was a spark in her eyes that said she was far from done.

“Part 2?” Saraya’s accent cut sharp through the noise. “You only won because you sat on my face with those oversized things. Next time I rip that mesh open and show everyone how soft they really are.”

Nikki stepped closer, still holding the mic, and planted one red boot between Saraya’s knees. She leaned down so her cleavage hung heavy and close to Saraya’s face.

“Soft? Babe these soft tits just pinned you. You were moaning under them. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the smother. I felt your breath on my skin. You liked it.”

Saraya shot a hand up and grabbed a handful of Nikki’s top, yanking her down so their faces were inches apart. Their breasts pressed together through the fabric, the heat and sweat making everything stick.

“I liked making you work for it,” Saraya shot back. “Next time I’m putting you on your ass and riding that chest until the ref has to pull me off. You want part 2? Let’s go. Right now.”

The crowd exploded. Nikki’s smirk widened. She tossed the mic aside and shoved Saraya back down to the mat with both hands planted firmly on Saraya’s breasts, squeezing hard as she pushed.

“Then get up and take it, British girl. These are still warm from the first round.”

Saraya rolled backward and sprang to her feet. The second the bell rang again they collided in the middle of the ring, chests first. The impact made both pairs of breasts bounce hard against each other. Nikki immediately locked her arms around Saraya’s back and started grinding her chest side to side, using the size and weight of her breasts like soft clubs.

“Feel that?” Nikki taunted between heavy breaths. “That’s the same chest that just beat you. Still want more?”

Saraya answered by dropping her weight and driving her shoulder up under Nikki’s breasts, lifting her for a second before slamming her down so both women landed with their chests crushed together. Saraya stayed on top and began bouncing lightly, her checkered-covered breasts slapping down onto Nikki’s face and neck with every drop.

“Part 2 already feels better,” Saraya mocked. “Your tits make a nice pillow while I work.”

Nikki bridged hard and rolled them over. Now she was on top, sitting high on Saraya’s stomach so her heavy breasts hung right over Saraya’s face. She leaned forward and let them drop, smothering Saraya completely while she spoke.

“Still talking under there? I can’t hear you with my tits in the way. Louder babe.”

Saraya’s hands came up and squeezed Nikki’s breasts from the sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh through the mesh. She managed to turn her head enough to gasp out a reply.

“They feel heavier the second time. Guess all that posing made them soft after all.”

Nikki sat up just enough to let Saraya breathe, then dropped again, this time grinding in slow circles so her breasts rubbed across Saraya’s cheeks and mouth. The fishnet stockings on both women rasped together as their legs tangled.

“Soft enough to put you to sleep,” Nikki said. “Keep mocking. It makes them bounce nicer when I drop them on you.”

Saraya bucked and reversed with a sudden burst, ending up seated on Nikki’s chest. She planted her knees on Nikki’s arms and leaned down, pressing her own breasts into Nikki’s face while the chains on her top dragged across Nikki’s skin.

“My turn to smother the Hollywood princess. Open wide. Taste some real heat.”

Nikki’s muffled voice still managed to sound cocky. “Your little checkered things aren’t big enough to shut me up. Try harder.”

Saraya pressed down harder, rolling her shoulders so her breasts mashed firmly over Nikki’s mouth and nose. At the same time she reached back and slapped Nikki’s outer thigh, then slid her hand higher to squeeze one of Nikki’s breasts from the side while she continued the smother.

“Still talking? Maybe I need to use more than just these.”

She shifted her weight and dropped her hips lower so her ass pressed down on Nikki’s lower chest while her breasts stayed locked over Nikki’s face. The dual pressure made Nikki squirm. Saraya looked out at the crowd and smirked.

“See that? Bella can’t even push me off. All that size and she’s stuck under a real wrestler.”

Nikki’s hands finally found enough leverage to shove Saraya sideways. Both women scrambled up and immediately locked into another tight clinch, breasts pressed flat against each other, arms wrapped around backs. They ground and shifted, the sweat making their tops slide against skin. Nikki’s larger pair dominated the contact but Saraya kept pushing forward, matching every roll of the hips and every squeeze.

“You feel how hard I’m working these against you?” Nikki whispered near Saraya’s ear. “Part 2 and you’re already breathing heavy. Admit my tits are better.”

“They’re bigger,” Saraya shot back, voice tight. “Not better. I’m still standing.”

Nikki suddenly dropped low and drove upward with her chest, catching Saraya under the breasts and lifting her off her feet for a short walk before slamming her down again. The impact left both women gasping. Nikki stayed on top and began a series of short, sharp breast smashes, driving her chest down onto Saraya’s over and over while the crowd counted along.

“One. Two. Three. Keep counting babe. Every smash is another reminder who won the first one.”

Saraya bridged and rolled them toward the ropes. She managed to get a foot on the bottom rope and used it to pull herself free, then immediately whipped Nikki into the opposite corner. When Nikki bounced out Saraya met her with a full-speed chest-first collision that left both women staggered. Saraya followed by grabbing Nikki’s hair and yanking her face down into her cleavage, holding her there while she walked them in a slow circle.

“Smell that? That’s the scent of someone who doesn’t need reality TV to stay relevant. Breathe it in.”

Nikki’s hands came up and squeezed both of Saraya’s breasts hard, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh until Saraya had to release. Nikki stood up straight and immediately answered with her own smother, forcing Saraya’s face deep between her heavier breasts while she swayed side to side.

“And that’s the scent of a woman who just pinned you. Get used to it. Part 2 is going the same way.”

They broke apart only long enough to trade a few open-handed slaps across each other’s chests. The sounds were loud and wet. Nikki’s breasts bounced harder with every impact. Saraya’s smaller pair still absorbed the hits and bounced back. Nikki finished the exchange by spinning Saraya around and pressing her own chest flush against Saraya’s back, reaching around to maul both of Saraya’s breasts from the front while grinding her hips forward.

“You feel these on your back? That’s ownership. Say you want another pin. Say it.”

Saraya drove an elbow back into Nikki’s ribs and spun free. She dropped to one knee and hit a sudden uppercut that caught Nikki square under the breasts, lifting them with the force of the blow. Nikki stumbled back into the ropes. Saraya charged and hit a running body splash that turned into another full chest-to-chest collision against the ropes. She stayed pressed there, grinding and talking.

“Part 2 and you’re already in the ropes. Some champion. Your tits are doing all the work while your brain is still stuck on the first match.”

Nikki shoved her off and answered with a hard clothesline that caught Saraya across the upper chest. Both women went down. Nikki crawled on top and draped her entire upper body across Saraya, breasts mashed flat, arms hooked tight.

The referee dropped into position.

One.

Two.

Saraya got a shoulder up. Nikki sat up just enough to let her breathe, then dropped her chest down again like a heavy blanket, smothering the kick-out attempt while the crowd roared.

“Stay down babe. These are getting tired of pinning you.”

Saraya’s voice came out muffled but still sharp. “Then stop talking and finish it. Or are your tits too soft for a real second fall?”

Nikki’s eyes flashed. She stood up, dragged Saraya to her feet by the hair, and whipped her hard into the turnbuckle. She charged in with a running corner splash that drove her full chest into Saraya’s trapped body and held the pressure, grinding side to side so her breasts rubbed constantly across Saraya’s.

“Soft enough to keep you stuck here. Soft enough to make you feel every bounce. Soft enough to win part 2 the same way I won part 1.”

Saraya planted both feet and shoved Nikki backward. They stumbled to the center and locked up again, this time slower, both women clearly feeling the accumulated impact on their chests. Every breath made their breasts rise and press together. Nikki’s hands slid down and squeezed Saraya’s ass through the checkered bottoms for a moment before sliding back up to her breasts, making it clear where the real focus stayed.

“Even your ass is nice,” Nikki said, “but these are what matter. These are what keep winning.”

Saraya answered by sliding her own hands down to Nikki’s ass, giving both cheeks a hard squeeze through the shiny black shorts, then immediately bringing her hands back up to Nikki’s breasts and squeezing harder.

“Your ass is fine too. Still not as interesting as watching those heavy things bounce when I hit them.”

They stayed locked together, grinding chest to chest, hands roaming but always returning to the breasts. Sweat dripped. The chains on Saraya’s top clinked against Nikki’s mesh. The referee circled them, waiting for a clean break that neither woman wanted to give.

Nikki finally broke the hold with a sudden headbutt to Saraya’s chest and followed with a snapmare that left Saraya on her back. She dropped an elbow across Saraya’s breasts, then another, then climbed up and sat down hard on Saraya’s chest so her full weight and the soft pressure of her own breasts pinned Saraya in place.

“Last chance to say you quit,” Nikki said, looking down. “Or we keep going until these put you to sleep for real.”

Saraya’s answer was a sharp upward thrust of her hips and chest that almost bucked Nikki off. She smiled through the pressure.

“Keep sitting. I’m comfortable. And when I reverse this I’m putting my whole chest on your face until the lights go out.”

Nikki leaned forward so her breasts hung directly over Saraya’s mouth again. She let them drop and stay there, smothering while she spoke one more time.

“Then reverse it babe. I’m waiting. Part 2 is still mine until you prove otherwise.”

The crowd noise rose again as both women shifted and prepared for the next exchange, chests heaving, eyes locked, the second match far from over and both of them clearly ready to keep using the same weapons that had already left their upper bodies aching and the audience begging for more.

Nikki kept her breasts locked over Saraya’s face, grinding slowly while the referee hovered nearby. The mesh fabric was damp with sweat and the weight of her chest pressed down hard enough that Saraya’s breath came in short hot bursts against her skin.

“Still comfortable under there babe?” Nikki asked, voice low and mocking. “Part 2 and you’re already using my tits like a pillow again. Tap if you want out. I won’t even make you say it loud.”

Saraya’s hands found Nikki’s sides and shoved with everything she had. The sudden burst rolled Nikki sideways. Both women scrambled up on their knees and immediately crashed together again, chests first. The impact made Nikki’s heavier pair bounce hard against Saraya’s checkered top. Saraya used the momentum to drive Nikki onto her back and drop her full weight across her, breasts smashed flat, chains digging into soft flesh.

“Pillow time is over,” Saraya snarled. “My turn to put you down for real.”

She sat up just enough to adjust, then lowered her chest again and began a steady rhythm of short drops, her breasts slamming down onto Nikki’s face and upper chest over and over. Each impact drew a louder reaction from the crowd. Nikki’s hands came up and squeezed Saraya’s breasts from the sides, fingers sinking in, but she couldn’t create enough space to escape the smother.

Nikki twisted hard and managed to get one shoulder free. She drove an elbow up into Saraya’s ribs then followed with a sharp upward thrust of her own chest that knocked Saraya off balance. Nikki rolled on top and immediately planted herself high on Saraya’s body, her black shorts and the heavy underside of her breasts filling Saraya’s vision. She leaned forward and let her chest fall like a soft hammer, smothering Saraya’s face completely while she talked.

“You wanted part 2. You’re getting the same ending. These don’t lose twice in one night.”

Saraya bridged with sudden power and reversed the position once more. She ended up seated across Nikki’s upper chest, knees pinning Nikki’s arms, and began grinding her hips and breasts in slow deliberate circles. The checkered fabric dragged across Nikki’s mouth and cheeks. At the same time Saraya reached back and gave Nikki’s outer thigh a hard slap before sliding her hand up to squeeze one of Nikki’s breasts from the side.

“Feel that?” Saraya said. “That’s me working. Not just sitting there looking pretty. Your tits are big. Mine are better at finishing matches.”

Nikki bucked and almost threw her off. Saraya dropped her weight harder and pressed her chest down until Nikki’s protests turned into muffled sounds. The referee started counting the pin.

One.

Two.

Nikki got a shoulder up at the last possible second. The crowd roared. Saraya sat up, breathing hard, and looked down at the woman under her.

“Stubborn. Fine. We do this the long way.”

She stood, grabbed Nikki by the hair, and hauled her to her feet. Saraya whipped her into the ropes and met the rebound with a running breast smash that folded Nikki in half. Both women went down in a heap of tangled limbs and bouncing chests. Saraya stayed on top and draped her entire upper body across Nikki, breasts mashed together, arms hooked tight under the shoulders.

The referee dropped into position again.

One.

Two.

Nikki kicked out once more, but slower this time. Her chest heaved under Saraya’s weight. Saraya didn’t let her up. She shifted higher so her breasts covered Nikki’s face completely and began a slow side-to-side grind while the referee waited for a clean pin attempt.

“You feel how heavy these little British ones suddenly are?” Saraya mocked. “That’s the weight of someone who actually wrestles. Not someone who poses.”

Nikki’s muffled voice still managed to sound defiant. “They’re not heavy enough. Get off me and I’ll show you.”

Saraya answered by sitting up just enough to let Nikki breathe, then dropping her chest down again with more force. At the same time she reached back and grabbed both of Nikki’s thighs, pulling them up so Nikki’s ass lifted off the mat. The position left Nikki’s breasts pushed high and exposed. Saraya leaned down and pressed her own chest hard against them, grinding tit-to-tit while keeping Nikki’s lower body controlled.

“Look at that. Even your ass is up in the air and these are still the only thing doing any work. Typical Bella.”

Nikki finally created enough space to shove Saraya sideways. Both women rolled toward the center of the ring and came up on their knees facing each other. They locked arms around each other’s backs and started another grinding clinch, breasts pressed tight, sweat making every shift slick and loud. Nikki’s larger pair dominated the contact but Saraya kept pushing forward, matching every roll of the shoulders and every squeeze of the hands.

Nikki slid her hands down and grabbed two firm handfuls of Saraya’s ass through the checkered bottoms, pulling her in tighter so their chests smashed even harder together.

“Your ass feels good,” Nikki said against her ear, “but these are still winning. Say it.”

Saraya answered by sliding her own hands down to Nikki’s ass, squeezing hard through the shiny black shorts, then bringing both hands back up to Nikki’s breasts and mauling them roughly while she spoke.

“Your ass is fine too. Still not as fun as watching these bounce when I hit them. Which I’m about to do again.”

She broke the clinch with a sudden headbutt to Nikki’s chest and followed with a sharp forearm across the same spot. Nikki stumbled back into the corner. Saraya charged and hit a full-speed corner splash that drove her entire chest into Nikki’s trapped body. She stayed pressed there, grinding and talking, chains clinking against mesh.

“Part 2 and you’re already stuck in the corner again. Some second match. Your tits are doing overtime while the rest of you is done.”

Nikki shoved her off with both hands planted on Saraya’s breasts. She followed with a hard clothesline that caught Saraya high across the chest and sent her down. Nikki climbed the second rope and launched herself with a flying body press that turned into another full chest-to-chest collision on the mat. She stayed on top, breasts flattened against Saraya’s, and hooked the arms for a pin.

One.

Two.

Saraya got a shoulder up. The kick-out was weak. Both women were slowing down, chests rising and falling in deep exhausted waves. Nikki sat up on Saraya’s stomach and looked down at her, sweat dripping from her cleavage onto Saraya’s skin.

“Last chance babe. Stay down and I’ll let these rest. Keep fighting and I’m smothering you until the lights dim.”

Saraya’s answer was a sudden upward burst that almost threw Nikki off. She rolled and ended up on top one more time, sitting high on Nikki’s chest. This time she didn’t just smother. She reached back, grabbed Nikki’s wrists, and pinned them to the mat while she lowered her breasts over Nikki’s face and began a slow, heavy grind.

“No more chances,” Saraya said. “This is the finish.”

She dropped her full weight and stayed there, chest locked over Nikki’s face, hips pressed down, the pressure constant and unyielding. Nikki’s legs kicked once, then again, but the strength was fading. The referee slid into position and started the count.

One.

Nikki’s shoulders stayed down. Her hands twitched under Saraya’s grip but couldn’t break free.

Two.

Saraya pressed harder, rolling her shoulders so her breasts mashed even more completely across Nikki’s face and mouth. The crowd noise rose to a peak.

Three.

The bell rang.

Saraya held the position for an extra second before releasing and rolling off to the side. She lay on her back beside Nikki, both women staring up at the lights, chests heaving, tops stretched and soaked. The referee raised Saraya’s hand while the arena reacted with a mix of cheers and disbelief.

Saraya turned her head toward Nikki and managed a tired, sharp smile.

“Part 2 goes to the British girl. Your tits put in a shift. Mine finished the job.”

Nikki was still catching her breath. She turned her head as well, eyes half-lidded but still carrying that familiar Bella edge.

“Enjoy it. Those little checkered things got lucky. Next time I bring the real weight and you won’t get a third count.”

Saraya pushed herself up to a seated position and looked down at Nikki’s still-rising chest.

“Next time you can try. Until then I own the second fall. And I own the memory of your face under these.”

She stood slowly, adjusted the spiked collar and the chains across her breasts, and raised both arms as the referee called for the official decision. Nikki stayed on the mat a moment longer, one hand resting lightly on her own chest where the final pressure had landed, already calculating the next round even as the lights and the noise washed over both of them.

The rivalry was far from finished. The second match had a winner, but the tension between the heavy Hollywood chest and the sharp British one only burned hotter.

Saraya stood in the center of the ring still catching her breath, the spiked collar and chains across her chest glinting under the lights. She looked down at Nikki stretched out on the mat, then out at the roaring crowd, and raised the mic the referee had handed her.

“You hear that noise, Bella? That’s them wanting more. I just took part 2. Now I want the finale. But this time we do it proper. No more gear. Just underwears. Bikinis. Skin on skin. You and me. Last woman standing.”

Nikki pushed herself up onto her elbows, chest still rising hard, the black and red mesh top plastered to her full breasts with sweat. She let out a short laugh and sat up fully.

“Bikinis? You want to lose with even less fabric covering those little British things? Fine by me, babe. I’ve been waiting to feel these smash against you with nothing in the way.”

Saraya’s smirk sharpened. She reached up, unclasped the spiked collar, and tossed it aside. Then she peeled the red and black checkered top up and over her head in one smooth motion, the metal studs and chains clattering as the fabric hit the mat. Underneath she wore a tight red bikini top that barely contained her breasts, the thin straps digging into her shoulders, the cups straining with every breath. She hooked her thumbs into the checkered bottoms and shoved them down her legs, kicking them away until she stood in matching red bikini bottoms that sat high on her hips and left most of her ass exposed. The red stood out bright against her skin and the fishnets she still wore.

“There,” Saraya said, turning slowly so the crowd got the full view. “Red bikini. No more hiding. These are ready to finish what they started.”

Nikki’s eyes dragged over the newly revealed skin, the way the red fabric clung to Saraya’s chest and the curve of her ass. She stood, still in her own gear, and stepped closer until their bodies almost touched.

“Look at that. Little red bikini trying to look dangerous. Those tits look even smaller without the chains. You sure you want them out in the open when I start using mine?”

Saraya closed the last inch and pressed her red-covered breasts against Nikki’s mesh-covered ones, grinding once for emphasis.

“I’m sure. Now strip or don’t. Either way I’m putting you down one last time with these.”

The referee called for the bell. The finale was on.

They circled for only a second before crashing together chest first. The impact of Nikki’s heavier breasts against Saraya’s red bikini top sent a visible bounce through both women. Saraya immediately locked her arms around Nikki’s back and started a hard side-to-side grind, the thin red fabric sliding against the mesh, the heat of bare skin transferring through the damp material.

“Feel that?” Saraya taunted right against Nikki’s ear. “No more padding. Just me and these working your Hollywood chest until it gives out.”

Nikki answered by sliding her hands down and grabbing two firm handfuls of Saraya’s ass through the red bikini bottoms, squeezing hard enough to lift the cheeks while she shoved her own chest forward with more force.

“Your ass feels better without the checkered crap,” Nikki said. “Still not as interesting as watching these red cups bounce when I smash them.”

She broke the clinch with a sudden shove and drove a forearm straight across Saraya’s chest. The red bikini top shifted with the blow, the soft flesh underneath jiggling. Saraya staggered but came right back with a running breast smash of her own, burying her red-covered chest into Nikki’s and holding the pressure while she spoke.

“Keep grabbing my ass. It won’t save you when these put you on your back.”

Nikki twisted free, grabbed Saraya by the hair, and yanked her face down into her cleavage. She held her there, smothering her between the full mesh-covered breasts while swaying side to side so Saraya’s mouth and nose were forced deeper into the soft heat.

“Breathe through the mesh one last time,” Nikki mocked. “Next time I might take this top off too and give you the real thing.”

Saraya fought free with a hard upward thrust of her own chest, then immediately reversed the smother. She shoved Nikki down into a seated position against the turnbuckle and climbed on, pressing her red bikini top directly over Nikki’s face. The thin fabric and the warm weight of her breasts sealed off Nikki’s vision and most of her air while Saraya ground in slow circles.

“No mesh now,” Saraya said, voice low and sharp. “Just red bikini and British heat. Taste it. This is the finale and you’re already under me.”

Nikki’s hands came up and squeezed both of Saraya’s breasts through the red cups, fingers digging in, thumbs brushing the edges of the fabric. She managed to create enough space to gasp out a reply.

“They’re still not big enough to keep me down. Get off and I’ll show you what real weight feels like.”

Saraya dropped her hips lower so her ass pressed down on Nikki’s lower chest while her breasts stayed locked over her face. The dual pressure made Nikki squirm. Saraya looked out at the crowd and smirked.

“See that? Bella can’t even push a bikini off her face. All that size and she’s stuck under red fabric and these.”

Nikki powered up with a sudden bridge that threw Saraya sideways. Both women scrambled to their feet and immediately locked into another tight clinch, this time with Saraya’s mostly bare skin against Nikki’s gear. Their breasts mashed together hard, the red bikini top sliding against the mesh with every roll of their shoulders. Nikki’s hands returned to Saraya’s ass, squeezing and pulling the red bottoms tighter into the cheeks while she ground her chest forward.

“Your ass is out here bouncing for everyone,” Nikki said. “But these are still the ones doing the real work.”

Saraya answered by sliding her own hands down to Nikki’s ass, giving both cheeks a rough squeeze through the shiny black shorts, then bringing her hands straight back up to Nikki’s breasts and mauling them through the mesh while she spoke.

“Your ass is fine. Your tits are the target. And right now they’re losing to a red bikini.”

She broke the hold with a sharp headbutt to Nikki’s chest and followed with a series of rapid breast smashes, driving her red-covered chest into Nikki’s over and over. Each impact made both pairs bounce and the crowd count along. Nikki stumbled back into the ropes. Saraya charged and hit a full-speed body splash that turned into another chest-to-chest collision against the ropes. She stayed pressed there, grinding the red bikini top across Nikki’s breasts while the chains that used to cover her were gone and only skin and thin fabric remained.

“No more gear between us,” Saraya hissed. “Just these and the finish.”

Nikki shoved her off and answered with a hard clothesline that caught Saraya high across the upper chest. Both women went down. Nikki crawled on top and draped her entire upper body across Saraya, mesh-covered breasts mashed against the red bikini, arms hooked tight.

One.

Two.

Saraya kicked out and immediately rolled Nikki over. She sat high on Nikki’s chest, knees pinning the arms, and lowered her red bikini top directly onto Nikki’s face. The thin fabric and the soft weight sealed everything. Saraya began a slow, heavy grind, rolling her shoulders so her breasts dragged across Nikki’s mouth and cheeks while she talked.

“This is the finale, Hollywood. Red bikini on your face. No more second chances. These are putting you to sleep.”

Nikki’s muffled protests turned into short bursts of air against the fabric. Her legs kicked once, then again, but the strength was fading under the constant pressure. Saraya reached back with one hand and gave Nikki’s outer thigh a firm slap before sliding up to squeeze one of Nikki’s breasts from the side, keeping the smother locked in place with the other.

“Still trying to talk under there? Louder. I want the crowd to hear how these British tits finish matches.”

Nikki managed one last burst and almost bucked Saraya off. Saraya dropped her full weight harder and stayed there, chest sealed over Nikki’s face, hips pressed down, the red bikini bottoms grinding against Nikki’s upper body. The referee slid into position.

One.

Nikki’s shoulders stayed down. Her hands twitched but couldn’t break the pin.

Two.

Saraya pressed even harder, the red fabric and the heat of her breasts completely covering Nikki’s face. The crowd noise peaked.

Three.

The bell rang.

Saraya held the smother for an extra second before releasing and rolling off to the side. She lay on her back beside Nikki, both women breathing hard, the red bikini top stretched tight across Saraya’s heaving chest, the thin fabric damp and shifted from all the contact. The referee raised Saraya’s hand while the arena reacted with pure heat.

Saraya turned her head toward Nikki and managed a tired but sharp smile.

“Finale goes to the red bikini. Your big Hollywood chest put in a shift. Mine finished the job with nothing but thin fabric and these.”

Nikki was still catching her breath, one hand resting on her own chest where the final pressure had landed. She turned her head as well, eyes half-lidded but still carrying that familiar edge.

“Enjoy the win, British girl. Next time I take the mesh off too and you won’t get a third count with those little red cups.”

Saraya pushed herself up to a seated position, adjusted the straps of her red bikini top, and looked down at Nikki’s still-rising chest.

“Next time you can try. Until then I own the finale. And I own the memory of your face under this red bikini.”

She stood slowly, the red bottoms riding high on her hips, and raised both arms as the referee called the official decision. Nikki stayed on the mat a moment longer, already calculating whatever came next even as the lights and the noise washed over both of them. The rivalry had a clear winner for the night, but the tension between the heavy mesh-covered chest and the sharp red-bikini one only burned hotter.

PART 1 - https://www.reddit.com/r/WomenWrestling_FANFIC/s/BlpO9WXQ41

Nikki Bella stepped through the curtain first, her long brown hair cascading down her back as the arena lights hit the tight black and red ring gear clinging to her curves. The mesh top barely contained her full breasts, the red lacing pulling them up high, while the shiny black shorts hugged her hips and the fishnet stockings ran down to her red boots. She raised one arm and strutted down the ramp, hips swaying, already scanning the crowd with that confident Bella smirk.

“Look at this place,” she called out into her mic, voice carrying over the cheers. “Nikki Bella is back, and I still look better than half the roster combined. Especially better than that British mess waiting for me.”

Saraya’s music hit next. The dark-haired woman with the sharp features and the permanent edge in her eyes emerged in her red-and-black checkered top, the metal studs and chains glinting, the spiked collar tight around her neck. Her fishnets and the short checkered bottoms left little to the imagination. She walked with that loose, arrogant swagger, tongue flicking out once as she stared straight at Nikki.

“Still talking about how pretty you are, Bella?” Saraya’s accent cut through the noise. “Cute. While you were posing for cameras and reality shows I was actually wrestling. You’re soft. Soft tits, soft ego, soft everything.”

Nikki laughed and tossed her hair. “Soft? These have more power than your entire career. Come get a closer look if you’re brave enough.”

The bell rang.

They circled. Nikki struck first, a hard forearm across Saraya’s chest that made her breasts bounce under the checkered fabric. Saraya answered with a sharp slap right across Nikki’s left breast, the sound loud, the impact making the mesh jiggle. Nikki’s eyes flashed.

“That’s all you got? My tits have taken harder hits from the camera flash alone.”

Saraya smirked. “Then let’s see them take this.”

She charged and drove her shoulder straight into Nikki’s chest, burying her face between those full breasts for a second before shoving her back into the ropes. Nikki bounced off and came forward with a running breast smash of her own, pressing her chest hard against Saraya’s and grinding for a moment before spinning her around.

They locked up. Nikki forced Saraya’s arms back and smashed her breasts into Saraya’s over and over, tit-to-tit collisions that made both women gasp. Saraya twisted free, dropped low, and drove her face right into Nikki’s cleavage, rubbing her cheeks against the soft flesh before biting the top of one breast through the fabric.

Nikki yelped and shoved her off. “You little pervert. You like the taste of Bella?”

“Better than the taste of your ego,” Saraya shot back, wiping her mouth. “These British lips have been around. Yours just sit there looking expensive.”

Nikki grabbed Saraya by the hair and yanked her face into her chest again, smothering her between those heavy breasts while the crowd roared. She held her there, swaying side to side so Saraya’s face was buried deeper, the mesh fabric pressing against the younger woman’s mouth and nose.

“Breathe through it,” Nikki taunted. “This is what a real woman’s chest feels like. Not those little checkered things you’re carrying around.”

Saraya fought free with a hard knee to Nikki’s midsection, then immediately answered with her own smother. She shoved Nikki down to a seated position against the turnbuckle and pressed her checkered-covered breasts over Nikki’s face, grinding and rolling them while the chains on her top clinked.

“Talk now, Hollywood,” Saraya mocked. “All that plastic and you still can’t push me off.”

Nikki’s hands came up and squeezed Saraya’s breasts hard through the fabric, fingers digging in, thumbs brushing over the studs. She shoved upward and reversed the position, now standing over Saraya and dropping her own heavy breasts onto the dark-haired woman’s face again and again like weighted clubs.

They rolled to the center. Nikki mounted Saraya’s chest and sat down hard, her black shorts and the underside of her breasts filling Saraya’s vision. She bounced lightly, using the weight of her chest and hips together, then leaned forward so her breasts hung directly over Saraya’s mouth.

“Open up,” Nikki ordered. “Show the crowd how much you love Bella tits.”

Saraya turned her head and bit the side of one breast instead. Nikki cried out, half pain and half something else, then slapped Saraya across the face and stood up. She dragged Saraya to her feet and whipped her into the ropes. When Saraya came flying back, Nikki caught her with a devastating breast-first collision, both women’s chests slamming together so hard the sound echoed.

Saraya staggered but stayed upright. She grabbed Nikki’s wrists, forced them high, and drove her own chest forward in rapid-fire smashes, red-and-black fabric meeting black-and-red mesh over and over. Nikki’s breasts bounced violently with every impact.

“Still soft?” Saraya hissed between hits. “These little British tits are putting in more work than your entire twin act ever did.”

Nikki broke the hold with a sudden headbutt and answered by spinning Saraya around, pressing her own chest flush against Saraya’s back, then reaching around to grab and squeeze Saraya’s breasts from behind while grinding her hips. The crowd ate it up.

“You feel that?” Nikki whispered near her ear. “That’s power. That’s what a real pair feels like when they’re working.”

Saraya threw an elbow back, catching Nikki in the ribs, then turned and locked her arms around Nikki’s waist. She lifted just enough to drive both of them down so their breasts smashed into each other on the mat. They stayed tangled, rolling, chests pressed together, hands groping and squeezing while they traded insults between heavy breaths.

“Your sister’s not here to save you,” Saraya said, voice low and mocking. “No Twin Magic tonight. Just me and these hands on your expensive chest.”

Nikki rolled on top and pinned Saraya’s shoulders for a two-count before Saraya kicked out. Nikki stayed on top, sitting on Saraya’s stomach and leaning down so her breasts dangled and slapped lightly against Saraya’s face with every movement.

“These expensive tits just got a two-count on you,” Nikki taunted. “Keep talking. It makes them bounce nicer.”

Saraya bridged hard and reversed, now on top. She sat high on Nikki’s chest, her checkered bottoms and the underside of her breasts filling Nikki’s view. She rocked forward and back, using the weight of her chest to keep Nikki down, then leaned in and rubbed her breasts slowly across Nikki’s face and neck.

“Still think you’re the main event?” Saraya asked. “You’re under me. Exactly where the old Bella act belongs.”

Nikki bucked her off and both women scrambled up. They traded open-handed slaps across each other’s chests, left then right, making the fabric and flesh bounce. Nikki followed with a running corner splash that drove her full chest into Saraya’s trapped body. She stayed there, pressing and grinding, her breasts flattening against Saraya’s while she spoke right into her ear.

“You feel how heavy these are? That’s years of being the face of the division. You’re just the girl who got hurt and disappeared.”

Saraya’s eyes flashed. She shoved Nikki back, ducked a clothesline, and hit a sudden snapmare that left Nikki on her back. Saraya dropped knee-first onto Nikki’s chest, then shifted so both knees pinned Nikki’s arms while she lowered her own breasts onto Nikki’s face again, smothering and rolling.

“Disappeared?” Saraya laughed. “I came back better. You came back with the same tits and the same tired lines.”

Nikki powered up with a burst of strength, slamming her forehead into Saraya’s chest and knocking her sideways. She followed with a series of hard breast smashes while Saraya was on her knees, holding Saraya’s head and driving her own chest into her face repeatedly.

The match slowed into a heated clinch in the middle of the ring. Both women locked arms around each other’s backs, chests pressed tight together, grinding and shifting so their breasts rubbed constantly. Sweat made the fabric cling. Nikki’s larger pair pushed against Saraya’s smaller but firmer ones. They traded short punches to the ribs between the grinding, neither willing to break the contact.

“You’re enjoying this,” Nikki accused, voice husky. “I can feel it.”

“Maybe I am,” Saraya shot back. “Your tits are the only interesting thing about you tonight.”

Nikki answered by dropping lower and driving her shoulder up under Saraya’s chest, lifting her slightly off the mat before slamming her down again so both pairs of breasts took the impact. She covered for another two-count.

Saraya kicked out and immediately went for Nikki’s legs, pulling her into a sitting position. She climbed onto Nikki’s lap facing her, legs wrapped around her waist, and began grinding their chests together in a tight, rhythmic motion while the referee tried to count them both down. The crowd’s reaction was pure heat.

“This is better than any match you had with your sister,” Saraya mocked, rolling her shoulders so her breasts dragged across Nikki’s. “Admit it.”

Nikki grabbed two handfuls of Saraya’s checkered top and yanked her even closer, smashing their mouths almost together before turning it into another hard chest collision.

“The only thing I’m admitting is that your little British chest is about to get pinned under mine.”

They broke apart only long enough for Nikki to whip Saraya into the ropes again. This time when Saraya rebounded, Nikki caught her in a tight bearhug, lifting her off her feet so their breasts were crushed together at face level. She squeezed harder, making both women gasp, then dropped Saraya into a sit-out powerbomb that drove Saraya’s upper body and chest hard into the mat.

Nikki covered. One. Two. Saraya got a shoulder up at the last second.

Both women were slower now, chests heaving, fabric stretched and damp. Nikki dragged Saraya up by the hair and shoved her face-first into the corner. She pressed in from behind, her full breasts flattening against Saraya’s back while her hands reached around and mauled Saraya’s chest from the front, squeezing and lifting.

“Still got jokes?” Nikki asked against her ear. “Or are you too busy feeling these?”

Saraya drove an elbow back, spun, and answered with a sudden facebuster that planted Nikki’s face into the mat. She followed by sitting on Nikki’s upper back and reaching under to pull Nikki’s arms back, forcing Nikki’s chest off the mat and making her breasts hang and sway while Saraya controlled her.

“Look at them swing,” Saraya taunted to the crowd. “All that work and they still bounce like they’re desperate for attention.”

Nikki powered free with a sudden bridge, throwing Saraya off. She scrambled up and hit a running knee to Saraya’s chest that folded her. Nikki climbed the second rope and launched herself with a flying body press that turned into another full-chest collision on the mat. She stayed on top, grinding her breasts down into Saraya’s while reaching for the pin.

One. Two. Kick-out again.

Saraya rolled Nikki over and locked in a tight headscissor, but instead of pure leg pressure she shifted so her inner thighs and the underside of her chest worked together, squeezing Nikki’s head while her breasts pressed down on Nikki’s face from above. Nikki’s hands came up and squeezed Saraya’s breasts hard in retaliation, fingers digging in until Saraya had to release.

They both crawled to their feet one more time. The trash talk came between heavy breaths.

Nikki: “You’re good. I’ll give you that. But these tits still run the show.”

Saraya: “Keep telling yourself that while I put them on the mat.”

They charged at the same time. Chest met chest in the hardest collision of the night. Both women staggered. Nikki recovered first, grabbed Saraya by the back of the head, and drove her face down into her cleavage one final time, holding her there while she walked them toward the ropes. She sat down on the middle rope with Saraya’s face still buried, using the bounce of the ropes to smother her deeper.

The referee started counting them both out of the ring. Nikki released just in time, shoved Saraya back to the center, and hit a sudden spear that drove her shoulder and the full weight of her chest into Saraya’s midsection. She covered with her entire upper body, breasts pressed flat against Saraya’s, arms hooked under the shoulders.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang.

Nikki rolled off and sat up, chest still heaving, a satisfied smirk on her face as the referee raised her hand. Saraya lay on her back, staring at the lights, one hand idly rubbing her own chest where the last impact had landed.

Nikki leaned over her, still breathing hard. “Told you. Bella tits win matches.”

Saraya turned her head, a small, sharp smile appearing. “Enjoy it. Next time I bring the real heat. And I’m aiming higher.”

Nikki stood and raised both arms, her breasts rising with the motion, the mesh top stretched tight. The crowd’s reaction mixed cheers and pure heat. She looked down at Saraya one more time.

“Anytime, British girl. These aren’t going anywhere.”

Saraya sat up slowly, adjusting her spiked collar and the chains across her chest. “Neither am I.”

They locked eyes for a long second, the tension still thick, both women’s chests rising and falling in the middle of the ring while the arena noise washed over them. The story between Nikki Bella and Saraya had only just started.

PART 2 - https://www.reddit.com/r/WomenWrestling_FANFIC/s/M3mtwrFrXV

The arena lights blazed down on the packed crowd as the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers. Tonight's special attraction pitted two of Brazil's hottest rising stars against each other in a no-holds-barred bikini wrestling exhibition. In the pink corner, Gabriela Moura, the 21-year-old from Niterói in Rio de Janeiro who had exploded onto the scene with her TikTok dances and fashion content. She had walked the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in 2025 and made her Sports Illustrated Swimsuit debut in 2026 after shooting in Fort Myers. With millions of followers and a modeling career on the rise, she stepped into the ring wearing a tight bright pink bikini that hugged her toned curves, long wavy blonde-highlighted hair cascading down her back, a gold pendant resting between her full breasts.

Opposite her stood Camilla Araujo, the 23-year-old Brazilian-American who first caught the world's eye as player 067 in MrBeast's massive Squid Game recreation video. She had built a massive following and earned tens of millions through her content before stepping into new chapters of her career. Camilla wore a deep teal green bikini that strained against her generous chest and rounded hips, her long dark wet-looking hair framing a bright smile that turned sharper as the bell approached. Both women were pure Brazilian fire, but the tension between them was already thick.

Gabriela strutted to the center of the ring, hands on her hips, and stared Camilla down. "You think that big smile and those boat selfies make you tough? I'm from Niterói. I walked Victoria's Secret. You're about to find out what real Brazilian heat feels like."

Camilla laughed, flipping her hair and bouncing slightly so her heavy breasts jiggled under the thin green fabric. "Oh please, Gabi. You and your perfect little Sports Illustrated photos. I've been grinding harder than you ever have. That pink bikini is cute, but I'm going to stretch it out of shape. Get ready to get embarrassed in front of everyone."

The referee called for the lockup. They circled, then crashed together. Gabriela drove forward with strong legs, trying to force Camilla back. Camilla immediately fought dirty. She drove her knee up between Gabriela's thighs, then grabbed a handful of the pink top and yanked it hard, making Gabriela's breasts bounce free for a second before the fabric snapped back. The crowd roared.

"Watch those hands!" Gabriela snapped, shoving Camilla away.

Camilla smirked. "What, these? They like the way you feel." She lunged again, wrapping her arms around Gabriela and spinning her into the ropes. As Gabriela rebounded, Camilla dropped low and drove her shoulder hard into Gabriela's soft midsection, then slid behind her and delivered a sharp slap across both cheeks of that tight pink-covered ass. The sound cracked through the arena. Gabriela yelped and spun, but Camilla was already grabbing her from behind, pressing those big teal-clad breasts into Gabriella's back while her hands slid around to cup and squeeze Gabriela's chest through the pink material.

"Feel that? My tits are bigger and better," Camilla taunted right in her ear, grinding her hips against Gabriela's ass. "You're all model pose and no power. I'm going to bounce you around like a toy."

Gabriela gritted her teeth, drove an elbow back into Camilla's ribs, then turned and locked her arms around Camilla's waist. She hoisted the darker-haired woman up and slammed her down onto the mat with a body press that mashed their breasts together hard. Camilla's green top strained as their soft flesh compressed. Gabriela stayed on top, rolling her hips so her ass pressed down against Camilla's crotch while she pinned the other woman's arms.

"Talk all you want," Gabriela said, voice low and fierce. "I dance for millions. I model for the biggest brands. You're just loud. These hips? They work for a living." She rose up slightly and dropped her full weight again, grinding her ass in a slow circle against Camilla before shifting to sit on the other woman's chest, knees pinning the arms. From that position Gabriela leaned forward and pressed her pink-covered breasts right into Camilla's face, smothering her for several long seconds.

Camilla bucked hard, managing to free one arm. She reached up and pinched one of Gabriela's nipples hard through the fabric, twisting until Gabriela cried out and rolled off. Instantly Camilla scrambled on top, straddling Gabriela's waist. She sat heavy, bouncing her ass deliberately so the heavy cheeks clapped against Gabriela's stomach with every drop. Then she leaned down, grabbed both of Gabriela's breasts in her hands, and squeezed them together roughly, mashing the soft mounds while her thumbs rubbed across the covered nipples.

"Look at these pretty little things," Camilla mocked, bouncing them up and down. "All that Victoria's Secret money and they still fit in my hands. Mine would spill out. Feel how soft you are while I crush you." She shifted higher, planting her teal bikini-covered crotch over Gabriela's face for a moment, smothering her with her ass before sliding back down and delivering a series of open-handed spanks to the sides of Gabriela's thighs and the undersides of her breasts.

Gabriela shoved upward with both hands, forcing Camilla off. She scrambled to her feet and charged, catching Camilla with a running clothesline that sent her tumbling. Gabriela followed up by climbing the ropes and launching herself into a flying body press. They crashed together again, breasts flattening against each other, asses bouncing from the impact. Gabriela rolled through into a headscissors, locking her strong thighs around Camilla's head and squeezing while she arched her back so her pink-covered ass rose high. She reached back and slapped her own cheeks a couple times for the crowd, then ground her ass down harder onto Camilla's face.

"Smell that Brazilian power," Gabriela taunted. "You talk dirty but you can't breathe under real muscle. Your big chest is just decoration."

Camilla's hands flailed, then found Gabriela's hips. She dug her nails in and yanked hard enough to break the hold. The moment she was free she lunged low, grabbed Gabriela by the ankles, and flipped her onto her stomach. Camilla dropped onto Gabriela's back, knees pinning her, and began a rapid series of hard spanks across both cheeks of that firm pink ass. The flesh jiggled and reddened under each strike.

"You like showing this off in your little balcony photos?" Camilla laughed, pausing only to reach under and grab handfuls of Gabriela's breasts from behind, pulling and squeezing them while she kept her weight pressing down. "I'm going to leave handprints all over your perfect model body. Everyone's going to see you got worked by the real deal."

Gabriela bucked violently, managing to roll them both over. Now on top again, she straddled Camilla reverse style, facing the feet, and sat her full weight on Camilla's upper chest so her pink-covered ass smothered Camilla's face completely. She ground in slow circles, then leaned forward and delivered firm slaps to the insides of Camilla's thighs before grabbing the green bikini bottoms and yanking them up into a tight wedgie that split Camilla's ass cheeks.

Camilla muffled curses under the soft pressure of Gabriela's ass. When she finally shoved free she was breathing hard, eyes narrowed. She wiped her mouth and snarled, "You think sitting on my face makes you a winner? I made more money in a month than most of your runway walks ever will. Time to stop playing nice."

She charged with a sudden burst, catching Gabriela with a low tackle that dumped her onto her back near the ropes. Camilla immediately climbed up, standing over Gabriela, and dropped into a hard squatting position that planted her teal-covered ass and crotch right onto Gabriela's face again. This time she stayed longer, rocking side to side so her heavy cheeks smothered and shifted across Gabriela's mouth and nose. At the same time she reached down and grabbed both of Gabriela's breasts, kneading them roughly, pulling the pink top aside enough to expose one nipple and pinching it hard.

"Breathe through my ass if you can, princess," Camilla taunted. "Your little Sports Illustrated body is nothing under real pressure. I'm going to leave you red and marked."

Gabriela's legs kicked. She finally managed to get her hands under Camilla's thighs and heave her off with a desperate shove. Both women rose, sweating, chests heaving. Gabriela's pink top was slightly askew, one strap slipping. Camilla's green bikini was stretched tight, the bottoms still riding high from the earlier yank.

They locked up again in the center. Gabriela drove Camilla into the corner and delivered a series of body punches that made Camilla's breasts bounce with every impact. Then she spun her around, pressed her against the turnbuckle, and ground her own hips and ass against Camilla's from behind while reaching around to cup and bounce Camilla's heavy chest in both hands.

"These bounce nice," Gabriela said, voice tight with effort. "But they don't hit as hard as mine. Feel that? Pure Niterói strength."

Camilla headbutted backward, catching Gabriela in the chin. The moment the pressure eased she turned and delivered a sharp slap across Gabriela's face, then another across the side of her breast. She shoved Gabriela down to a seated position against the ropes and dropped into a full body press, mashing their chests together while she sat astride Gabriela's lap and rolled her hips in grinding circles. Her hands never stopped moving, squeezing, lifting, and pressing Gabriela's breasts together so the soft flesh spilled around her fingers.

"Dirty feels good when it works," Camilla whispered, biting her lip as she kept grinding. "Your boyfriend Josh can watch the replay later and see how red your ass is going to be."

Gabriela headbutted upward, stunning Camilla enough to reverse the position. She threw Camilla onto her back, mounted her in a full straddle, and began a rapid series of open-handed slaps across Camilla's breasts, making them bounce and jiggle under the green fabric. Then she leaned forward, pressed her own chest hard against Camilla's, and ground side to side so their soft mounds rubbed and compressed together while her ass rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Camilla's hips.

The crowd was on its feet. The two Brazilian women traded dominance in long stretches of grinding, spanking, breast-mashing holds. Camilla kept finding ways to fight dirty: hair pulls when the referee looked away, sharp pinches to sensitive underboob flesh, sudden knee lifts into soft midsections, and repeated moments of smothering Gabriela under her full ass weight. Gabriela answered with powerful squeezes of her thighs, hard body drops that flattened Camilla under her, and relentless grinding of her pink-covered ass into every available surface of Camilla's body.

Late in the match both women were glossy with sweat, bikini tops half-displaced, bottoms wedged deep. Camilla trapped Gabriela in a corner again and delivered a prolonged series of hard ass-to-ass bumps, slamming her cheeks back against Gabriela's while reaching around to maul her breasts. Gabriela reversed it into a full Boston crab variation that arched Camilla's back and forced her chest high, then dropped her weight so her own breasts rested heavily on Camilla's upturned face while she continued to stretch the hold.

They rolled across the mat one final time in a tangle of limbs and soft flesh. Camilla managed a last dirty shot, driving her fingers under the edge of Gabriela's pink bottoms and yanking hard enough to expose more skin before the referee finally stepped in and called the match a hard-fought draw as both women collapsed, chests heaving, asses marked with red handprints, still throwing tired taunts at each other even as the medics checked them.

Gabriela pushed herself up on one elbow, hair stuck to her sweaty face, and managed a tired grin. "Next time, Camilla. No more dirty tricks. Just pure Brazilian power."

Camilla laughed breathlessly, still cupping one of her own sore breasts. "Bring it, Gabi. I'll still sit on that pretty face and make you beg. Your model body is fun to break in."

The crowd cheered as the two women were helped to their feet, still eyeing each other with competitive fire that promised the next encounter would be just as long, just as physical, and just as full of every dirty, bouncing, grinding move they could invent.

The crowd had barely settled from the hard-fought draw when the announcer called for an immediate second round. No rest. No water. Just the two Brazilian women still glistening with sweat, bikinis twisted and damp, staring each other down in the center of the ring.

Gabriela Moura rolled her shoulders, the pink fabric of her top clinging tightly to her full breasts. The Niterói-born model who had walked the 2025 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show and debuted in the 2026 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue no longer looked pure and polished. Her eyes had a new edge.

“You want dirty?” Gabriela said, voice low and sharp. “Fine. I can play that game too. Josh is going to see every second of this, and he’s going to watch me put you in your place.”

Camilla Araujo, the Brazilian-American who first exploded into fame as player 067 in MrBeast’s Squid Game video, only laughed and bounced once on the balls of her feet so her heavy teal-covered breasts swayed. “Big talk from the girl who already had my handprints on her ass. Come get some, model girl. I’m still going to sit on that pretty face and make you beg.”

The bell rang.

They crashed together harder than before. Gabriela immediately went for Camilla’s dark hair, yanking her head sideways while driving a knee up between her thighs. Camilla grunted but answered by grabbing two big handfuls of Gabriela’s pink top and ripping the straps down her arms so the cups dropped, exposing her breasts for a full second before Gabriela shoved her away and yanked the fabric back up.

“Nice try,” Gabriela spat. She charged again, locked her arms around Camilla’s waist, and hoisted her high before dropping into a hard sit-out that slammed Camilla’s ass onto the mat. The moment Camilla landed, Gabriela spun around, straddled her face, and dropped her full pink-covered ass straight down, grinding in tight circles while reaching back to slap Camilla’s breasts hard enough to make them bounce under the teal material.

“Taste that,” Gabriela taunted, pressing heavier. “Victoria’s Secret ass right on your mouth. Breathe if you can, big talker.”

Camilla’s hands shot up, dug into Gabriela’s hips, and heaved. She rolled them both over, ending up on top, and immediately answered with her own smother. She planted her thick teal-covered ass firmly over Gabriela’s face and rocked side to side, cheeks spreading and compressing against Gabriela’s mouth and nose. At the same time she leaned forward, grabbed both of Gabriela’s breasts, and squeezed them together roughly, thumbs rubbing and pinching the nipples through the thin pink fabric.

“Still softer than mine,” Camilla mocked, bouncing her weight so her ass clapped against Gabriela’s face with every drop. “Keep fighting dirty. It just makes the finish sweeter.”

Gabriela bucked hard, managed to get one arm free, and reached up to yank Camilla’s green bottoms into a vicious wedgie that split her cheeks wide. Camilla yelped and lifted just enough for Gabriela to scramble free. The moment she was up, Gabriela charged, caught Camilla with a clothesline that sent her spinning into the ropes, then followed with a running ass-first bump that smashed her pink-covered cheeks hard into Camilla’s chest, flattening those heavy breasts under the impact.

They traded for long minutes. Gabriela started matching Camilla’s dirtiness move for move. She pulled hair. She pinched the soft undersides of Camilla’s breasts. She dropped repeated elbow strikes that made Camilla’s tits bounce and jiggle. She trapped Camilla in the corner and delivered a long series of hard hip thrusts, grinding her ass back against Camilla’s crotch while reaching around to maul those big teal-covered mounds with both hands.

“Feel that?” Gabriela snarled, still grinding. “Model hips. SI Swimsuit body. You’re getting worked by the real Brazilian star.”

Camilla’s answer was pure filth. She shoved Gabriela off, dropped low, and drove her shoulder into Gabriela’s soft stomach, then spun behind her and delivered a rapid flurry of open-handed spanks that left fresh red marks across both cheeks of that firm pink ass. Before Gabriela could recover, Camilla shoved her face-first into the mat, climbed on, and sat her full weight down so her heavy teal ass smothered the back of Gabriela’s head while her hands reached under and roughly squeezed and bounced Gabriela’s breasts from below.

“Red looks good on you,” Camilla laughed, grinding harder. “Josh is going to love this replay. His pretty little girlfriend getting her model ass painted.”

Gabriela roared and exploded upward, reversing the position with a sudden burst of strength. She slammed Camilla onto her back, mounted her reverse style, and dropped her pink-covered ass straight onto Camilla’s face again, this time staying longer, rolling her hips in slow, heavy circles while she leaned forward and delivered sharp slaps across Camilla’s exposed inner thighs and the soft sides of her breasts.

The crowd was screaming. Both women were soaked, bikinis half-destroyed, skin marked with handprints and nail trails. Gabriela looked close to taking control. She locked in a tight headscissors, squeezing Camilla’s head between her strong thighs while she arched and ground her ass down harder.

Then Camilla fought the dirtiest yet.

She reached up with both hands, grabbed the thin sides of Gabriela’s pink bottoms, and yanked with everything she had. The fabric ripped at the seams. Gabriela’s concentration broke for half a second. Camilla used that half-second to buck hard, roll through, and end up on top in a full mount. She immediately planted her thick teal-covered ass firmly over Gabriela’s face, sealing her mouth and nose under soft, heavy cheeks, and began to rock in deliberate, smothering circles.

“There it is,” Camilla said, voice thick with victory as she settled her weight. “Breathe through my ass, princess. Just like I told you.”

Gabriela’s legs kicked. Her hands slapped at Camilla’s thighs and hips. Camilla only pressed heavier, grinding side to side so her cheeks spread and compressed across Gabriela’s face. At the same time she reached down, tore the pink top completely open, and took both of Gabriela’s bare breasts in her hands, squeezing, lifting, and bouncing them roughly while her thumbs rubbed hard circles over the nipples.

“Beg,” Camilla ordered, still grinding her ass down. “Beg me to let you breathe and I’ll think about it. Come on, Sports Illustrated girl. Let everyone hear it.”

Gabriela’s muffled cries turned into desperate sounds. Her hands stopped pushing and started tapping weakly at Camilla’s thighs. Camilla lifted just enough for air, then dropped right back down, sealing her again.

“Louder,” Camilla taunted, bouncing her weight so her heavy ass clapped against Gabriela’s face. “I said I’d make you beg. Do it.”

“Please,” Gabriela finally gasped when Camilla lifted again. Her voice was hoarse. “Please… let me breathe… I give…”

Camilla stayed right where she was, still sitting fully on Gabriela’s face, still mauling her exposed breasts with both hands. She ground in one more slow, deep circle, making sure every inch of her teal-covered ass smothered the model beneath her.

“That’s it,” Camilla said, almost soft. “Good girl. Take it. Your perfect little body just got owned by the real one.”

She finally rose up after several long seconds, still straddling Gabriela’s chest, and looked down at the flushed, sweaty face between her thighs. Gabriela’s pink bikini was ruined, top torn open, bottoms half-ripped, both breasts marked with red fingerprints, her ass still glowing with earlier handprints.

Camilla leaned down, gave both of those soft breasts one last hard squeeze, and whispered right against Gabriela’s ear.

“Told you I’d sit on that pretty face and make you beg. Next time you want to talk shit about my chest or my money, remember how this felt.”

She stood up slowly, raised both arms to the roaring crowd, and left Gabriela lying there in the center of the ring, chest heaving, face still marked by the shape of Camilla’s ass, thoroughly beaten in the second round exactly the way Camilla had promised.

Addison Rae stood at one end of the private outdoor wrestling ring set up beside a luxury hillside pool, the same kind of sleek infinity edge and palm tree backdrop from her recent photo. Her long dark hair was pulled high in a sleek ponytail, white triangle bikini top clinging to her full chest, the thin side-tie bottoms hugging her hips and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Across from her, Zara Larsson bounced lightly on her toes, blonde waves loose around her shoulders, shiny pale bikini catching the late afternoon sun just like in her boat-side shot. The Swedish singer’s athletic frame looked soft and curvy in all the right places, especially the thick thighs and round ass that filled out her bottoms.

The referee, a quiet hired hand for this private exhibition match, raised his hand. “This is a no-holds-barred exhibition. Anything goes. Pinfall or submission. Ready?”

Addison smirked, hands on her hips, chest pushed out. “I’m ready to put this pop star on her back where she belongs. Hope that pretty face of yours can handle what I’ve got, Zara.”

Zara laughed, rolling her shoulders so her breasts shifted under the shiny triangles. “Talk all you want, TikTok girl. I’ve got hips that can bury you. Come get some.”

The bell rang. Both women circled. Addison lunged first, grabbing Zara around the waist and trying to force her down. Zara twisted, using her lower body strength to hip-check Addison hard. The impact sent Addison stumbling back into the ropes. Zara followed immediately, spinning around and dropping her ass right onto Addison’s midsection as she bounced off the ropes. She ground down hard, twerking in short, sharp bursts, the soft flesh of her cheeks bouncing and spreading against Addison’s stomach.

“Feel that?” Zara taunted, looking over her shoulder while she kept bouncing. “That’s real Swedish ass, not some filtered Instagram version. Bet you wish you had this kind of power.”

Addison gritted her teeth, grabbed Zara’s hips, and shoved upward. She rolled to the side, scrambled up, and charged. This time she caught Zara from behind, locking her arms under Zara’s and lifting her slightly before dropping into a sit-out. Zara’s legs kicked, but Addison quickly spun around, straddled Zara’s upper body, and planted her own white bikini-covered ass firmly over Zara’s face.

She started twerking immediately. Deep, rhythmic pumps of her hips sent her cheeks clapping and spreading right against Zara’s nose and mouth. The soft, warm weight pressed down, muffling Zara’s protests into wet, muffled sounds.

“How’s that for a face seat, singer girl?” Addison mocked, looking down between her own bouncing cheeks. “Your fans love your voice. Wonder if they’ll still love it after I smother it with this. Twerk for me, Zara. Or just lie there and take it like a good little blonde.”

Zara’s hands slapped at Addison’s thighs. She managed to shove hard enough to create a small gap and gasp for air. “You’re heavy for such a small frame. All that content creation must be going straight to your ass.” She bucked her hips up, throwing Addison forward, then scrambled free. The moment she was up she spun and dropped into a squat over Addison’s face before Addison could fully rise.

Zara’s pale shiny bottoms pressed down. She started a slow, heavy grind, then shifted into full twerking mode. Her ass bounced and rolled, cheeks spreading and closing around Addison’s features. She reached back and pulled the thin fabric of her bottoms slightly to the side, letting more skin contact Addison’s face while she kept the motion going.

“Taste that,” Zara said, voice low and taunting. “Real woman ass. Not some choreographed dance move. You’re just a walking thirst trap. I’m the one who can actually put you down.”

Addison’s muffled groans turned into determination. She grabbed Zara’s waist with both hands and rolled hard, reversing the position so that now Zara was on her back and Addison was the one sitting heavy on her face again. This time Addison faced Zara’s body. She leaned forward, planted her hands on Zara’s thighs, and started a harder, faster twerk. Her white bikini bottoms rode up between her cheeks as she bounced, the soft flesh of her ass repeatedly smothering Zara’s face.

“Look at you under me,” Addison laughed, glancing back. “Big mouth on stage, nothing but my ass in it now. Keep talking shit. Every word just makes me grind harder.” She punctuated the sentence with a particularly deep sit, fully covering Zara’s face for several long seconds before lifting just enough to let her breathe, then dropping again into another series of twerking pumps.

Zara’s legs kicked and her hips bucked. She managed to hook a leg around Addison’s waist and roll them both. They tumbled across the mat in a tangle of limbs and bikini strings. When they stopped, Zara was on top again. She didn’t waste the opportunity. She crawled forward until her knees were beside Addison’s head, then lowered her ass once more. This time she faced away and went into a full reverse face-sit, cheeks spreading wide as she settled her weight.

She began rolling her hips in slow circles, then switched to sharp upward twerks that made her ass bounce and clap against Addison’s face. “You wanted a wrestling match,” Zara said, looking back over her shoulder with a wicked smile. “This is how I wrestle. With my best weapon. Your little TikTok dances don’t prepare you for this kind of pressure.”

Addison’s hands dug into Zara’s thick thighs. She pushed up with her shoulders and managed to create space, gasping, “You talk a lot for someone whose ass is about to get pinned.” She surged upward, catching Zara off-balance, and dumped her onto her back. Addison immediately spun around, dropped into a straddle across Zara’s chest, and planted her own ass right back onto Zara’s face while facing her body.

The twerking started again, harder this time. Addison’s hips snapped up and down, cheeks bouncing and spreading, the soft weight of her ass repeatedly covering Zara’s nose and mouth. She leaned forward and grabbed Zara’s wrists, pinning them to the mat so the blonde couldn’t push her off.

“Stay down there and enjoy the view,” Addison taunted. “Or the lack of one. All you get is my ass. Bet it smells better than those dressing rooms you sing in. Keep trying to trash talk. I love feeling you try to talk under me.”

Zara’s body squirmed. Her powerful legs wrapped around Addison’s waist from below and she bridged hard, using core strength to throw Addison forward. The moment the weight lifted, Zara scrambled up, grabbed Addison by the ponytail, and forced her down onto all fours. Then she moved behind her, pressed her own hips against Addison’s ass, and started grinding hard while reaching around to hold Addison in place.

“Feel that?” Zara said, voice close to Addison’s ear as she rutted against her from behind. “That’s how a real woman takes control. Your little content body is soft. Easy to handle.” She pulled back just enough to drop into a hard squat and pressed her ass down onto the small of Addison’s back, twerking in place so her cheeks bounced and spread across Addison’s lower back and the top of her own ass.

Addison pushed up onto her hands and knees, then exploded backward, driving her own ass into Zara’s midsection and knocking the blonde off balance. She spun, tackled Zara to the mat, and this time went straight for a full mount with her knees pinning Zara’s shoulders. Addison’s ass settled heavily over Zara’s face once more. She started a slow, deliberate grind, rolling her hips in wide circles so that every inch of her soft cheeks dragged across Zara’s features.

“You like using your ass so much,” Addison said, looking down between her own spreading cheeks. “Let’s see how you like being under mine for a while. No more talking. Just take it.” She increased the pace, turning the grind into short, sharp twerks that sent her ass bouncing and clapping against Zara’s face. Every few pumps she sat fully down, completely smothering, then lifted just enough for Zara to gasp before dropping again.

Zara’s hands clawed at Addison’s thighs and the thin side ties of the white bikini bottoms. She managed to yank one of the ties loose. The fabric of Addison’s bottoms shifted, exposing more skin. Zara took the opening, shoved hard with both hands, and rolled them again. This time when she landed on top she didn’t go for the face immediately. She straddled Addison’s stomach first, grinding her shiny bikini-covered crotch down while leaning forward so her breasts hung close to Addison’s face.

“Look at these,” Zara mocked, shaking her upper body so her breasts swayed under the shiny triangles. “You spent so much time on your ass you forgot the rest of you is soft too.” She sat up, spun around, and dropped into another reverse face-sit, this time with more force. Her thick ass landed solidly, and she immediately launched into hard, rhythmic twerking. The cheeks bounced and spread, pressing and releasing against Addison’s face in a relentless rhythm.

“This is what a real ass does,” Zara said, looking back while she kept bouncing. “Not some cute little dance for the camera. I can sit here all day. Your face is just a seat now.”

Addison’s muffled sounds grew louder. She bucked her hips hard, managed to create a gap, and sucked in air. “You’re good at sitting,” she shot back, voice rough. “But I’m better at flipping the script.” She grabbed Zara’s hips, heaved with everything she had, and reversed them once more. The moment she was on top she dropped her own ass straight onto Zara’s face again, this time with both knees planted wide and her hands free.

Addison reached down, grabbed the sides of Zara’s head, and started a deep, grinding face-sit mixed with sharp upward twerks. Her soft white-bikini-covered cheeks spread and closed over Zara’s features. She leaned forward slightly so more of her weight settled down.

“Talk shit now,” Addison said, bouncing harder. “Go on. Mock me. Call me a thirst trap. Every word just makes me smother you longer. Your fans should see their Swedish princess under a real American ass right now.”

Zara’s legs flailed. She bridged again, this time with more power, and managed to create enough space to roll them toward the ropes. They crashed into the bottom rope together. Zara used the momentum to scramble free and immediately dropped into a squat over Addison’s face before the brunette could rise. Her pale shiny bottoms pressed down. She reached back with both hands, grabbed her own cheeks, and spread them wider while she began a slow, heavy grind that turned into deep, deliberate twerks.

“Feel every inch,” Zara taunted. “This ass has more power than your whole brand. You’re just content. I’m the main event.” She kept the motion going, bouncing and rolling, making sure Addison’s face stayed buried under the soft, warm pressure.

Addison’s hands found Zara’s thick thighs again. She pushed up, got her knees under her, and drove forward, tackling Zara onto her back near the center of the ring. This time she didn’t go straight for the face. She straddled Zara’s chest, leaned down so her own full breasts in the white triangle top hung close to Zara’s face, and shook them once before sitting upright and dropping her ass down hard onto Zara’s face again.

The twerking that followed was relentless. Addison’s hips snapped up and down, cheeks clapping and spreading, the soft flesh of her ass repeatedly covering and uncovering Zara’s features. She looked down between her own bouncing cheeks and smirked.

“This is where you belong,” Addison said. “Under me. Taking my ass. Keep those long legs kicking all you want. You’re not getting out until I say so.”

Zara’s muffled protests turned into determined grunts. She got her hands under Addison’s thighs, heaved, and managed a partial escape. The two women rolled across the mat once more, limbs tangled, bikini strings loosening further. When they stopped, Zara was behind Addison, both on their knees. Zara pressed her hips forward, grinding her crotch against Addison’s ass while reaching around to hold her in place.

“You’re soft everywhere that counts,” Zara said, voice low as she rutted against her. “Pretty face, pretty body, no real fight.” She pulled back, dropped into a hard squat, and pressed her own thick ass down onto the small of Addison’s back again, twerking so her cheeks bounced and spread across Addison’s lower back and the top of her own rounded ass.

Addison pushed up, spun, and caught Zara with a sudden tackle that put the blonde on her back. This time Addison went for a full mount with her knees pinning Zara’s arms. She settled her weight carefully, then began a slow, heavy grind of her ass against Zara’s face while looking down between her own cheeks.

“Last chance to tap,” Addison said, bouncing once, hard. “Or keep taking it. I can sit here until the sun goes down. Your choice, Zara.”

Zara’s body tensed. She bridged with everything she had left, threw Addison forward, and scrambled free one more time. Both women rose to their knees, breathing hard, faces flushed, bikini tops slightly askew, bottoms riding up between their cheeks. They stared at each other for a beat.

Then they lunged at the same time.

They met in the middle of the ring in a tangle of arms and legs. Addison managed to get the upper position first. She forced Zara onto her back, spun around, and dropped into a heavy face-sit facing Zara’s body. Her white bikini-covered ass settled firmly over Zara’s face. She planted her hands on Zara’s thighs and started a deep, rhythmic twerk, cheeks bouncing and spreading with every pump of her hips.

“This is it,” Addison said, looking back over her shoulder while she kept the motion going. “No more escapes. Just my ass and your face until you give up.”

Zara’s hands slapped at Addison’s thighs. Her legs kicked. But the pressure stayed constant. Addison increased the pace, turning the twerks into sharp, clapping bounces that sent her soft cheeks repeatedly covering Zara’s features. Every few seconds she sat fully down, completely smothering, then lifted just enough for a gasp before dropping again.

Zara’s struggles slowed. Her hands went from pushing to gripping Addison’s thighs. After a long sequence of relentless face-sitting and twerking, Zara’s body finally went still enough for the referee to slide in and check. Addison lifted her hips just enough for the count.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang.

Addison stayed seated for a few extra seconds, giving one last slow grind of her ass against Zara’s face before rising. She stood over the blonde, chest rising and falling, ponytail slightly messy, white bikini bottoms still riding up between her cheeks.

Zara lay on her back, face flushed, breathing hard, a mixture of frustration and reluctant respect in her expression. She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

Addison offered a hand. Zara took it after a beat and let herself be pulled up.

“Not bad for a singer,” Addison said, still a little out of breath. “You’ve got some real power in those hips.”

Zara smirked, brushing blonde hair out of her face. “And you’ve got more fight than the average content creator. Next time I won’t let you sit on me quite so long.”

They both laughed, the tension breaking into something closer to mutual respect mixed with lingering heat. The private match was over, but the memory of every twerk, every smother, and every taunt would linger long after the sun finished setting behind the hills.

Addison Rae stood over Zara Larsson for only a few seconds after the referee called the match. The blonde was still catching her breath on the mat, face flushed, shiny bikini bottoms riding up between her cheeks. Addison’s white triangle top clung to her full chest, her high ponytail slightly messy from the struggle. She offered her hand. Zara took it, rising slowly with a tired but respectful smirk.

Then Addison’s expression shifted.

The friendly look vanished. A cold, predatory smile replaced it. Without warning she yanked Zara forward by the wrist and slammed her back down onto the mat hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

“Change of plans, Swedish girl,” Addison said, voice low and sharp. “I decided I don’t feel like sharing the win. You talked too much shit. Time to put you in your place for real.”

Zara’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you—”

Addison dropped her full weight onto Zara’s chest, pinning her shoulders with her knees. She leaned down so her heavy breasts in the white bikini top pressed directly against Zara’s face. She ground them side to side, smothering the blonde’s features under soft, warm cleavage while her hips rolled.

“Shut up and take it,” Addison mocked. “All that trash talk earlier and now look at you. Face full of my tits. You wanted a real fight. This is what you get.”

She sat up just enough to yank Zara’s shiny bikini bottoms upward with both hands, hauling the fabric deep between the blonde’s cheeks in a brutal wedgie. Zara yelped, hips jerking as the thin material dug hard into her ass and crotch. Addison twisted the gathered fabric tighter, lifting Zara’s hips slightly off the mat before releasing the pressure just enough to keep the painful stretch locked in place.

“Feel that wedgie?” Addison laughed, bouncing once on Zara’s chest so her own breasts jiggled against the blonde’s face again. “Your little shiny bottoms look better shoved up your crack. Bet it stings. Good.”

She spun around without leaving her mount, turning her back to Zara’s face, and dropped her own white-bikini-covered ass straight down. The soft cheeks spread over Zara’s nose and mouth. Addison started twerking hard and deep, hips pumping so her ass bounced and clapped against the trapped face beneath her. Every few pumps she sat fully down, completely smothering, then lifted just enough for Zara to gasp before dropping again.

“This is where you belong,” Addison taunted, looking back over her shoulder while she kept the ruthless rhythm. “Under my ass after I already beat you. You thought we were done? Cute. I’m just getting started humiliating you.”

Zara’s hands slapped at Addison’s thighs. Her legs kicked. Muffled protests turned into strained groans as the wedgie fabric stayed dug deep. Addison reached back, grabbed the sides of Zara’s head, and pressed down harder while she continued the face-sitting twerks. Her cheeks spread and closed, the soft weight of her ass repeatedly covering every inch of Zara’s features.

After a long sequence she rose just enough to spin around again. She planted her knees beside Zara’s head, leaned forward, and pressed her full breasts down over the blonde’s face once more. She shook her upper body so the heavy soft flesh of her chest smothered and dragged across Zara’s mouth and nose. At the same time she reached down and delivered a series of hard, open-handed spanks to the exposed outer curves of Zara’s ass, the sharp cracks echoing across the private ring.

“Ass up,” Addison ordered, spanking harder. “I want those cheeks red while I sit on your face.” She yanked the wedgie even tighter for a moment, making Zara arch, then released just enough to keep the painful dig locked in. Another series of spanks landed, each one making the blonde’s thick cheeks jiggle under the impact.

Addison dropped her ass back onto Zara’s face in a reverse sit, cheeks spreading wide. She resumed the deep, bouncing twerks, using the motion to grind her soft flesh firmly against the trapped features below. Every few seconds she paused to deliver more hard spanks to Zara’s exposed ass, the sharp sounds mixing with the soft wet sounds of her own ass smothering the blonde’s face.

“Listen to you under me,” Addison mocked, bouncing harder. “No more cocky Swedish attitude. Just muffled little sounds while my ass owns your face. That wedgie must be killing you. Good. You earned every inch of it.”

She shifted her weight forward, pressing more of her soft cheeks down, then reached back and grabbed both of Zara’s wrists. Pinning them to the mat, she leaned into a full, heavy face-sit and started a slower, deeper grind. Her hips rolled in wide circles, dragging every soft curve of her ass across Zara’s features while the wedgie fabric stayed pulled high and tight between the blonde’s cheeks.

“Boobs next,” Addison said suddenly. She lifted her hips just enough to spin around again, dropping her full chest over Zara’s face. She pressed her heavy breasts down hard, smothering the blonde under soft cleavage while her hips kept rolling. One hand reached back to deliver more sharp spanks to Zara’s ass. The other yanked the wedgie fabric higher still, lifting Zara’s hips slightly off the mat before letting them drop.

“Feel that?” Addison laughed, grinding her breasts side to side across Zara’s face. “My tits and my ass both taking turns owning you. You’re not a pop star right now. You’re just a blonde with a red ass and a face full of me.”

She sat upright, spun once more, and dropped into another heavy reverse face-sit. This time she planted both hands on Zara’s thighs and launched into a hard, rhythmic twerking sequence. Her white bikini bottoms rode up between her own cheeks as she bounced, the soft flesh of her ass repeatedly smothering and releasing Zara’s features. Between the twerks she paused to deliver more brutal spanks, each one making Zara’s thick cheeks bounce and redden further under the shiny fabric still dug deep in a painful wedgie.

“Keep struggling,” Addison taunted, voice thick with amusement as she bounced harder. “It just makes my ass jiggle more on your face. You talked all that shit about real woman power. Where is it now? Buried under my cheeks where it belongs.”

She stayed locked in the face-sit for a long stretch, alternating deep smothering sits with sharp bouncing twerks. Every so often she reached back to yank the wedgie higher or land another series of hard spanks across Zara’s exposed ass. The blonde’s muffled groans grew weaker. Her kicks slowed. Addison kept the pressure constant, grinding and bouncing, using her soft heavy ass as the main weapon while her breasts took turns smothering whenever she spun around for a change of angle.

Finally she rose just enough to look down at the flushed, defeated face beneath her. Zara’s shiny bikini bottoms were still yanked high and tight between her reddened cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, strained breaths.

Addison smirked, gave one last deep sit of her ass against Zara’s face, then stood fully. She planted one foot lightly on Zara’s stomach and looked down.

“That,” she said, voice calm and cold, “is what happens when you talk shit and think the match is over. Stay down there and think about how my ass owned your face. Next time you won’t even get a fair start.”

She stepped away, leaving Zara lying on the mat with the wedgie still dug deep, cheeks stinging from the spanks, face still warm from the relentless smothering. The private ring was quiet except for the blonde’s ragged breathing and the soft sound of Addison walking toward the edge of the mat, already planning how long she would make the next round last.