SS 19 Dark Match: Femke 'Golden' Brouwer vs. Bubbles Burste

What did they say about water being everywhere and not having a drop to drink? Bubbles was getting to that point, far faster than she liked. They’d been wrestling for a good while now, and her body was starting to show all the telltale signs of mounting dehydration - the stiff joints, the dry mouth, the blurry vision, the mounting fatigue. She would’ve been fairly well spent in the best of scenarios, but with her water supplies dwindling, it made everything far worse.

But she’d endure. If Femke could take it, she could take it. If Femke could survive, she could survive.

Bubbles repeated that mantra in her head as her foe moved to join her on the cross, using it for support as well. She wasted little time, lashing out and slashing her side with the nine tails, cutting in her side and leaving marks so red they still showed up well on her tanned skin. A cry came along with it, but only for a moment, before it turned into a fierce growl. No way was Bubbles letting that go unanswered.

The whip wasn’t good for striking at this range, but that didn’t mean it was without uses. Taking both ends in her hands, she threw it out and wreathed it on Femke’s shoulders, using it hang onto her foe and use her as a support while she barreled forward. Her first move was to raise her leg, aiming a wild, sloppy knee at her midsection, before she reeled back and threw their heads together for a hardhitting headbutt.

Exhaustion was evident on Bubbles's face, even through the bleary and increasingly unfocused eyes that Femke was forced to use to see it. This match had taken so much out of them both, already lasting longer than their first match and taking them from the deck of the boat into the ocean and back, before finally finding the two of them here, in a veritable sex dungeon. A dungeon not unlike the one that Femke and Darya kept well-stocked at their home, and which she knew her wife had been keen to utilize with Bubbles's wife coming over to watch this fight...

Thoughts of what their wives were up to energized Femke, but they also distracted her. Her nine-tailed whip managed to bite into Bubbles's flank, creating some nice, clean red lines that striped her almost like an okapi. But Bubbles fought back, using her whip awkwardly, but effectively, thanks in part to Femke's distraction. Femke was surprised and forced back, and once she took that first backward step, Bubbles's weight supplied her with plenty of physical motive to keep moving in that direction. Then the knee to the midsection came, a sharp blossoming of pain, albeit pain which quickly dimmed.

The headbutt was not so easily dismissed, as their skulls came together, as they had many a time before, with a titanic, thunderous clap of flesh and bone. Femke could only hope that it hurt Bubbles as much as it hurt her. She let out a sharp gasp of pain as she reeled back, stunned, her vision nothing but incongruous colors and flashes of imagined light. She stumbled, then sagged towards the floor, dropping her nine-tailed weapon, letting it clatter off to the side. She laid down like a maiden on a couch, one leg folding up underneath her, one hip smacking into the floor with enough force, or so it seemed, to appreciably change the course of the vessel on which they fought.

Her hands reached up and out, groping blindly for what she hoped was an equally-disoriented Bubbles. She feared, however, that more pain was following close behind, that Bubbles had now gained a critical edge as the final minutes of this challenge waned and something, it seemed, would have to give...

How long had they been fighting, now? It felt like hours, though, realistically, Bubbles knew it couldn’t have been more than half of one. Her body was showing all the telltale signs of strenuous fatigue - aching muscles, churning innards, that nasty taste that gets in your mouth when you’re thirsty. She was on the verge, the edge of shutting down, her body was about to go on strike. She wasn’t sure how long she could operate like this and stay conscious, but she doubted it would be more than ten minutes before she reached that limit. Fifteen, tops.

And she couldn’t have been more excited for it, being 100%.

Knowing that Femke was on the edge helped. They were two machines, running at their peak, and the only question would be whose engine gave out first. From the looks of things, she wanted to say that it would be Femke who faltered, but it was hard to judge how bad she was looking.

Both of them could barely stand. Bubbles needed Femke’s support to stay upright as much as she did hers. But as they fumbled with each other and threw their last reserves into the effort to stay alive, ideas started to reach Bubbles’ demented head. Crazy ones. At this point, why not?

With the two of them close and on their knees, Bubbles reached out and wrapped her arms around Femke’s, capturing it in a tight, crushing embrace. It was one that also resulted in their faces mashing towards, and while they were this close, well, there was only one thing to do - she smashed their lips together for her sloppiest, roughest kiss, sealing their mouths to rob her foe over every breath she could.

Femke slumped over, and Bubbles, with no more strength in reserve than Femke had, collapsed with her, both of them going to the gently rumbling floor and causing the boards to creak underneath their combined weight. Femke's head was still spinning after that headbutt, and she wondered how much time they would make her spend in the hospital to get over the concussion this time. She hated being forced into such clinical situations when she knew her body could recover just fine on its own. But, then, if she got to spend that hospital time with Bubbles, it would not be so bad to have a proper period of convalescence.

She started to move, pushing her body towards that of her rival, but Bubbles reached out and wrapped Femke up before she could do the same to Bubbles, Femke feeling her arms braced against her own flanks as Bubbles embraced her...and then began to squeeze her, harder and harder, getting Femke to let out a low, guttural groan. If she had been a second faster, she would have avoided getting her own arms wrapped up and squeezed Bubbles back. A bearhug duel between the two of them would have been a fitting way to end the fight—or to transition into the next phase of it.

But with her arms captured, Femke was temporarily at Bubbles's mercy, and Bubbles decided to take advantage of that fact by giving her a ferocious, aggressive, and very sloppy kiss. Femke moaned, half-swooning, then kissed back, opening her own mouth and slamming her tongue hard into Bubbles's, taking nibbles of lips when she could, and generally trying to dominate her doppelganger's mouth. Unfortunately, being squeezed put her at a disadvantage, as almost all of the oxygen flow was going in one direction—out of Femke's lungs, and into Bubbles's.

So she would fight back as best she could, keeping the kiss going but flexing her arms, trying to get every inch of wiggle room she could. Even with them pinned to her sides, the two were pressed so closely together that she could still begin throwing short but forceful jabs into Bubbles's tummy, curling them upwards to try to add a little extra pain. And she would do it over and over again, trying to weaken Bubbles bit by bit to avoid falling victim to the American's intended kiss of "death!"

To call Bubbles’ kiss ‘rough’ would’ve been underselling it. A punch to the face was ‘rough’. A car crash was ‘rough’. The embrace that she forced on her rival was nothing less than intimate violence, and it would’ve been too much for 99.99% of the women she’d ever fucked to take. Even her own wife would’ve had some trouble enduring it, might’ve told her to take it down a notch.

But Femke was special. So special. This was a kiss made for her and only her.

She deposited energy and, like with everything with this woman, she received everything back. Her opponent didn’t just reciprocate the embrace, but threw her all into it, holding nothing back, as the two engaged in a wild, wicked lust that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. Bubbles would’ve been content to stay this way forever, too, or at least until her foe caved.

That wasn’t happening, however. Femke remained defiant, even now, and that defiance paid off. Bubbles cried into her mouth at the first strike out of sheer surprise, but the cry that came after that was nothing but anguish, sheer distress. Her innards were churning, pulped to a mess, and she knew that it would only grow worse.

She let go. She had to. Bubbles stumbled away, hurting, so taken by the pain that she tripped over a weight bench and fell flat on her back, which, of course, just made the pain worse.

Femke's desperate attempts to break free were not much, compared to what she was capable of. This battle had already sapped a healthy majority of her energy. The punches were not only restrained by Bubbles's strong, encircling arms, but also suffered from the fatigue in Femke's limbs. Each and every movement felt like she was swimming through thick syrup as soreness started to set in in earnest.

But she kept on going. She had to. No way was she going to be satisfied with ending it here. Her body was starting to rebel, but she still had control. She would go until Bubbles was completely drained, or until she herself was. She kissed frantically, powerfully, and somehow, between the kiss distracting the American woman and those quick little smacks of knuckle on flesh, Femke earned her freedom. Bubbles stumbled backward, and even though Femke was weak in the knees, bare chest heaving as she tried to suck in air, she tipped her head forward and let the sudden shift in her equilibrium send her stumbling after Bubbles. In pursuit.

The pursuit ended clumsily, as Bubbles tripped and went down on her back, and Femke, unable to stop her legs without them buckling under the stress, would wobble into position above Bubbles, then pitch forward herself. In a move that was half purposeful, and half the result of running on fumes, Femke would come down on top of Bubbles tits to tits, belly to belly, crotch to crotch—every part of her smashing down on top of its counterpart on Bubbles to try to completely flatten her on the floor.

It hurt Femke, too, of course, making her wheeze and groan, eyelids fluttering as her arms groped awkwardly for her opponent's wrists.

Bubbles wasn’t just a wrestler, she was a former bodybuilder. She knew how to get the most out of her muscles, knew what it was like to spend half of a day - literally twelve hours - in a gym, six days a week, pushing herself to the maximum. Some days had left her so tired that she swore she would go to sleep ten seconds after flopping on the bed, and then she’d have to get up in five hours and do it all over again. It was exhaustion on a level that few would ever experience, but it was her life, and she’d been damn good at it.

But she had never been more tired in her life than she was right now. She was sure of that.

She was so tired that, when Femke tripped up and fell flat on her, she couldn’t even muster the strength to try and avoid it, couldn’t even attempt to roll out of the way. She just there and flopped about at the impact, her back arching from the pain before she just relaxed, and let her rival come to a rest on top of her. She didn’t try to push her off. Didn’t move. Didn’t do anything but lay there, sweat, and breath.

After a few seconds, she opened her eyes halfway and managed enough sense to form coherent words. ”How…” She cleared her throat. ”How long have we been fighting? Feels like a while now.” She turned her head to the side and planted a few soft kisses on Femke’s face. ”Who’s even winning? I can’t remember.”

Femke felt like the tattered wick of a burnt-out candle, and not just because she was overheated enough to believe she was swimming in melted wax. Like Bubbles, she had known levels of exhaustion in her life that few could ever grasp—both mental and physical, in the ring and in her too-often-forgotten musical career, working her fingers to the bone one night and then collecting scores of bruises across the rest of her body the next. But this...this was an even higher level than that. The two of them stank, covered in seawater and dripping sweat, and Femke felt a desperate urge to just lay still and not move—though at the same time she understood the signals her muscles were sending her brain to mean that if she laid still for even a second too long, they would seize up and refuse to move for the rest of the dwindling day.

"Feels...like hours," Femke croaked in response to Bubbles's question. She was certain of it, too, until she dimly recalled that the match was only planned to be an hour long. "And if I had to choose a winner right now, well...first to be able to stand would probably be a good enough measure."

She tried to laugh, but it just came out as a wheeze, and she would fall off of Bubbles, laying on the deck directly beside her friend, panting, chest heaving. Her hand would go to Bubbles's chest, not wanting to give up bodily contact with her rival, grabbing one breast and unabashedly groping it. Her face would press in close to the side of Bubbles's, giving her cheek several smooches to pay Bubbles back for all those kisses she had just given. She would nuzzle close to Bubbles and continue to speak, nose rubbing in Bubbles's sweaty hair, rasping directly in her ear. "Are you planning on surrendering to me soon? You are running out of time to do it..."

She paused, realizing she actually had no idea how long was left on that clock that was supposedly running. "...I think."

Bubbles jumped a little when Femke reached over to play with her breast, but that was the only negative reaction she had to it. The rest was wanting and hungry. She moaned at the touch and squirmed, before deciding to reciprocate. Reaching down, she ran her hand over her opponent’s fantastic abs, stroking them, caressing them, only to move even lower a moment later.

There. That steaming, sweltering pussy that she so adored. She traced a finger around it with her index finger, then brought it down the middle for a slow, steady stroke. Just getting reactions out of her playmate.

‘Playmate’. That was a good word for it.

Bubbles tried to laugh, too, but wound up making a sound that was more like a cough than anything, before she closed her eyes and settled back down. She kept her rubbing up as Femke nuzzled against her, and pressed their thighs against each, savoring the sensation of unyielding muscle against unyielding muscle. ”Surrender? Thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” She gave Femke’s pussy a slap with her finger, then went right back to her pleasuring work. ”Maybe you could convince me, though. I’m open to ideas.”

And she had a few of her own, too.

Femke knew Bubbles would not be touched without being touched in return, and she did not mind it in the slightest. As a matter of fact, to a certain degree, she might have even been counting on it as a respite from the exhaustion that was beginning to weigh heavily upon every inch of her bronzed frame. There was no punishment for enjoying oneself in this match, after all. Femke purred and wiggled her whole lower body, toes curling as Bubbles's hand just kept on rubbing. She felt muscles protest the movement of her lower body, demanding complete relaxation and rest, but ignored them, as it would just be impossible to keep still while Bubbles was touching her in that way. She buried her face in Bubbles's hair and managed a hoarse chuckle as Bubbles refused Femke's suggestion of surrender.

And Bubbles asked Femke for more suggestions. Truth be told, Femke had been counting on Bubbles's brains to find the solution to this conundrum, since she felt the American typically had the better grasp on the bigger picture than she did, at least in the heat of battle. But her doppelganger had thrown the responsibility back onto her. She closed her eyes, yipping softly at the light slap on her sex, then tried to focus on the feeling of the breeze drifting over the sea and tickling her nose, hoping that would clear her mind enough to think straight. "It depends...on how much time we have left," she said at last. "Are they going to blow a horn when it's done? Because I feel like it has been hours already. Not that I'm complaining." She dug her fingers into Bubbles's breast in a rough, affectionate way.

"Think we have time...to find some deserted island out here?" She squeezed Bubbles's breast hard again and this time held it for several seconds as she let out another hoarse chuckle. She pressed her own tits against Bubbles's arm, diamond-hard nipples tracing little lines in Bubbles's skin. "If not, we may have seconds to decide a winner. Or else have to settle for a draw again." She paused, then added: "Unless you have ideas..." Yes, time to encourage Bubbles to do some of the thinking!