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Author Topic: NO LIMITS - deadly femfights - 01 of 10  (Read 3766 times)

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Offline joyfully

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NO LIMITS - deadly femfights - 01 of 10
« on: September 29, 2015, 07:00:39 PM »

Wendy bent forward to straighten her dark brown but translucent thigh-high nylons, ensuring the vertical line of the seam in back was straight. She wanted to look perfect when she entered the big fight cage. The attractive 21-year-old young woman's gorgeous legs looked stunning in the 5-inch mules she wore on her meticulously pedicured feet. These were carefully selected feminine shoes, which left her perfectly formed ankles and heels completely exposed. These were the kind of shoes that shaped the female leg in a way men could not ignore; they were what Amy Winehouse referred to in her song "Fuck Me Pumps". Wendy knew that would be the first instinct of any man who saw her wearing them.
Her form-fitting satin dress was low cut, revealing her ample cleavage, and the skirt was short enough to leave the top of the nylons visible, showing 4 inches of her upper leg while not quite revealing she wore no panties. The thin material of the dress clung to her well muscled though slim torso, and this did announce to anyone who saw her that her groin was bare, with no indent of panty elastic. She smiled as she watched the visible indent of her navel, exposed by the foot wide by two foot long oval opening in the front, shifted gently in and out with her breathing. The top of the opening was at the base of her breasts just above her sternum, and the bottom was cut low enough to ride just above the hood of her clitoris, and fully revealed the small trimmed puff of pubic hair had she had left for that very purpose when she had shaved her groin otherwise clean.
What she admired was a remarkable sight in the full-length mirror, a sight she knew the fight audience, made up of mostly wealthy American and Mexican professionals and business owners would enjoy as she entered the Tijuana private club's fully enclosed fight cage. Wendy was a winner in every respect, and with three years of experience as a professional extreme fighter had earned herself a reputation as a superior combatant, now freshly promoted to the A Class. She was at the top of the heap, now ready for her first A Class fight against a girl her age she had never met in the cage. Putting down Megan would be her first win in what she planned to be a length career in the ultimate fight sport.
The gorgeous blonde American girl had learned the extreme fight business early when at the age of 14 she had joined the fight club in her junior high school. She had caught the coach's attention with her quick moves, her rapid learning and her aggressive style. He was the one who told her about the extreme fight business, and how much a good female fighter could make, given the opportunity and the right matches. For that she would need a coach, and he volunteered to take her in to his stable of successful fighters.
At 16 she officially became an adult according to Mexican law, and regularly made the trip from San Diego across the border with her adult sponsor into Tijuana where female fights, particularly between well developed girls in their teens, had become a popular sport for gamblers from her home city. Her coach got her the job at Pancho's Cantina & Punch Barn, a bar on the main route that had a back room with a fight cage for extreme fights. This was a fight arena, and anything but a high-class establishment. It was smoky, smelly and filled with men a girl would not want to meet on a street at night.
The young high school girls who performed in the cage, who would be considered underage anywhere but in Mexico, would enter the big metal fight cage that completely enclosed them, and protected them from the crowd. The men who frequented the backroom fight arena were men from whom they would require protection. Many had a criminal record; all of them had committed some kind of crime, or had spent far too long contemplating some kind of sexual crime while actively abusing their own manhood. In other words, they were your average American male, down to the land of sin for the evening to assist the young ladies, most of them also down for the weekend from San Diego, in making enough money to make the lies they told their parents upon returning home worth the effort.
In many ways the big special cage was like the kind seen on extreme fight television, except that the bars continued up and curved inward to meet 18 feet above the center of the ring, so that it resembling a huge birdcage. This was a practical design feature. Once the door was closed and locked there was no escape. A sweaty fat Mexican in dingy black clothes and a baseball cap would make a show of locking the small cage door behind the last girl in with a large padlock, to make it clear to everyone not only that there was no escape or retreat possible, but also that the girls were protected from anyone but each other once the big steel padlock was in place.
Wendy's schoolteacher and coach was an honorable man, and seldom knowingly broke the rules. The other American recruiter was not. Some of the girls he brought across the border probably had fake IDs because to Wendy they looked younger, but Pancho's Cantina owner allowed them to take part in the cage fights. This other coach had little skill, because the combat sports were not taught in most schools. so their only experience was what they learned through bullying on the playground. They didn't know how to stand, how to get another girl off her feet, and how to focus their efforts to do the most damage.
Their fights were free-for-all scraps that mostly involved slapping, hair pulling and then hugging in a struggle on the mat. Every now and again an elbow would come up, and the girl on top start punching at her opponent's head, but she would then do something stupid allowing the other girl to get out of trouble. These amateur fights usually ended in the girl on top holding the other's hair in both hands and doing some serious head-banging into the canvas in a vain attempt to knock out the girl on the bottom. When no progress was being made the girl on top was declared the winner, the amateurs were taken out and the serious fights started between legal 16-year-old girls.
Violent fights between aggressive teen girls who knew what they were doing brought in the crowds, and young American girls willing and able to fight were in demand. The Mexican girls, who made up about half the stable of fighters, were either runaway street girls who had found a way to make good money, or more often were brought in by their parents, who saw in the fighting skills of their teens an easy way to increase family income, as well as to relish the moments when their daughter defeated or at least got in a few good blows to an American girl.
Most of the Mexican girls were street smart, and made formidable fighters. They understood that winning was everything. Most of them had never heard of rules, and none of them had any reserve when it came to fighting dirty, which was what the crowds liked most about the juvenile competitions. The American girls had to unlearn what they knew about fair play, but because their teacher had these fights in mind when he taught them, they had learned the formal and the real way to fight simultaneously. The better students such as Wendy had little difficulty in making the transition.
The Mexicans living in Tijuana were far too dependent on the tourist money and regularly denigrated by the tourists to like the aloof Americans, who showed nothing but distain for their southern neighbors. It was very satisfying and well worth the small price of putting their daughter into the cage to see an American girl's face bloodied by her, their eyes blackened and maybe their top pulled off and their titties scratched to show they were in no way superior to Mexicans. Their assumption was reasonable, because the young Mexican girls put into the big extreme fight cage did as well as their American counterparts.
Wendy had done well in boxing and wrestling during her first two years of junior high school, and when she finished grade eleven her gym teacher had got her a summer job making good money fighting other girls her age, both Mexican and American, in the filthy back room fight cage behind Pancho's Cantina. He took a mini-van filled with excited young girls down every weekend, and the border guards, accepting that he was their uncle, always recognized him and no longer even asked his destination. They knew his only stop was the barn behind Pancho's Cantina where they staged the girlie-fights with teenagers, and some border guards had relatives who worked there, depending on the participation of the young American girls for their livelihood. At the end of every weekend the same middle-aged guy returned to the US with a van full of battered, aching and bruised girls, all with some cash in their jeans.
Pancho's Cantina attracted as customers working class Americans who crossed the border for the evening, wanting to see violent combat sports in the fight cage in the back room featuring the teenage girls - hoping to see tops ripped off, which happened frequently, and even some nude fights featuring girls 18 or over; fights so mercilessly brut@l that only the Mexicans could stage them legally. When she first entered the back room arena Wendy was struck with the distinctive aroma of male cum, only slightly masked by the faint odor of stale urine. She had to admit the fight arena was pretty sleazy, but in truth so was this violent sport. The men sat in the dark and frequently masturbated as the violent fights between young girls and later nude women progressed, spilling as much semen as they caught with a Kleenex or stained handkerchief, but the urine came from the younger female fighters, those losing who frequently lost control during the latter stages of a fight.
Blood was also a common sight in the extreme fights. Boxing gloves were quite small, because they were much less padded than those used in the regular sport. The most common gloves used had open fingers, allowing for scratching with nails, and the rough material of these gloves, and the thumb was in a pocked beside the index finger so that the fingers could be closed into a fist, but the thumb could not be use for gouging. These gloves were specially prepared and supplied by a Mexican manufacturer to fill a custom order. The special design specifications were for small hands of teenage girls and stipulated roughened and hardened leather, which was course enough to produce bloody abrasions on the skin with an angular blow. They also had a small pocket that allowed for anything from additional padding for the knuckles to bits of metal to be inserted, depending on the intended outcome if the fight was fixed, as was sometimes the case. The color of the blood produced made the fights more visually interesting to the audience, increasing the amount wagered, and that was what the violent sport was all about.
There was a Mexican doctor in the arena to take care of girls injured, so that they could heal quickly, and not be in too much of a mess when they returned home. Girls were regularly getting in trouble with their parents when they got home, and often that meant they would not show up the next weekend. The girls who took home injuries were made to memorize a stock answer regarding how they had been hurt, which elevated substantially the number of reported r@pe attempts in San Diego. When a girl was no long able to get free on a weekend it contributed to the high turnover at the Cantina, and ensured a constant flow of interesting new young fighting stock to entertain the gamblers. It also meant the coach had lots of work in recruiting his young students and their friends looking for an exciting and profitable way to spend a weekend.
The school Wendy attended was in a poorer part of the city, and the family income level was uniformly low throughout the school. Some of the girls Wendy fought in gym class did not have the best in hygiene habits. Most didn't shower before a bout, and some didn't shower after. For gym class the school district required students buy uniform gym shorts and t-shirts, which many couldn't afford, so the coach told them they would use the Japanese style, where they would wear only their panties.
He said it was a concession to their inability to pay, so it would be best to keep it secret. This was one secret he was sure the 16-year-old girls would keep. He had a set of gym clothes for the girls to wear at tournaments, but collected them before the girls went home. These grade 11 girls were in various stages of breast development, with some looking like they had just started while others like Wendy were sporting a well-developed rack. Her breasts had begun to sprout soon after she turned 11, and by the time she was 14 they were fully mature. Now she had a full rack, and was used to them attracting attention, so showing them to the other fighters and the coach was no big deal.
She was also used to the smell of sweat, with some of the girls wearing the same pair of panties for a week before they got to the laundry. Sometimes they were stained with menstrual blood, since the girls were often unable to afford discharge management, and now and again one of the girls she pinned would accidently pee herself. The smell in Pancho's Cantina's fight arena was not much worse. In the school she went to nobody could claim to be middle class, but Wendy had aspirations. She kept herself cleaner than most of the girls at her school, but had learned to tolerate those she fought who really stunk.
Because her teacher and coach recruited many of the American girls who worked in the fight cage at Pancho's Cantina, Wendy knew several of the girls she fought with. Some of them she got to fight against, and found she was a better fighter than most of them. They were in it for the money, and she was in it to win and improve her standing. After their first fight the coach convinced most of the girls to abandon regular fight shorts in favor of tight-fitting little panties that clearly outlined their cameltoe. By their third fight the boss let girls know that there was an extra $5 if they peed in their panties during a bout, and once they heard that most of the girls drink lots of sodas before they entered the ring to make sure they could pee every fight.
Like Wendy, the teens and women who fought were exhibitionists, not well educated, and responded well to encouragement and approval from their peers. It was quite easy to get them to break through some basic inhibitions when it appeared to be common practice, and after a few positive experiences with lots of reinforcement, most of them found it a rush to pee in front of an approving public. Years of frequent sprays of girlie pee permeated the canvas, and throwing water on it diluted the stuff but never got rid of the smell.
To her knowledge a fight cage was supposed to smell a bit funky, like an insufficiently tended urinal, because she had only known the one at Pancho's Cantina and Punch Barn. It was a pretty grungy place, but with everything considered, so was this sport. Wendy's only attraction to it was that she got to do what she was good at and got paid for it. As long as she could make her own decisions, everything was good and she was in. After a few weekends she hardly noticed the smell, although the pervasive stale urine aroma was always quite noticeable when she first entered the dingy back room after a week away. Within fifteen minutes it would seem normal, as she and the other girls adjusted to it. She thought keeping the lights low helped, but then realized she didn't smell the funky room smell when the spotlights attached to the top of the cage hit the scantily dressed young girls entering to fight.
When she showed up at home bruised and scratched after what she claimed was a sleepover at a friend's house, her parents discovered she was fighting for pay and they grounded her, banning her from the sport. She had promptly left home and school to dedicate her attention to the violent but well-paying exercise in obscene violence. Fighting was such a kick, and she became very good at it. Fighting nude wasn't a big deal, because these people watching didn't know her, and wearing less gave her opponents less to grab.
Wendy wondered what her parents would have done if they'd known she fought in extreme fights in Mexico. They would have died if they'd know what their beautiful young daughter was really doing on the weekends. It was none of their business now that she no longer lived at home, and there was no way she would every let them know that she was now doing well. She was sure they wouldn't care anyway. They'd just be fighting over who got to use their old computer, or sitting back with a beer watching TV, except they might be fighting about money for groceries again. There was no way she was going to cost them money for groceries anymore. When she turned 18 she would go into the cage naked just like the very best of the female fighters.
She was a natural exhibitionist and risk taker and was very aggressive, the kind of girl that made a perfect candidate for the extreme sport. Her training at school had been in preparation for the fight cage, because her teacher and coach had seen her as a great prospect, and she had an independent attitude that made her a very aggressive and competitive prospect. With every fight, win or lose, she showed that the coach's instincts were dead on. He was using Pancho's Cantina as a training ground for the young fighter, gaining her experience she would need as her career developed. He had special plans for all of his young female fighters, and Wendy was one of his best. Before she was done this beautiful and feisty little bitch was going to make him a lot of money.

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