Layla McCarthy vs Lynette de Villiers

With a victorious "Ha!" Layla the lower posrtion of Lynette's outfit right off her body. She stumbled back with them in hand, and with a righteous cry from the more perverted part of the crowd Layla had secured Lynette's humiliation. In her opinion, there was always time in a fight to make your opinion look foolish. It was a spectator sport after all.

Unfortunately, in her conquest on Lynette's pants, Layla had underestimated her ability to recover. Not to mention she had completely forgotten aout the riding crop that she had left by the ring. "AHH!!" Lalya screamed as the whip slashed her across the cheek, snapping her head to the side. She stumbled back clutching her cheek, which now had a nice red line cut into her skin. "Fucking bitch!" she screamed.

Lynette's ears burned in embarrassment as she heard the catcalls and the lewd cheering of the fans in the audience. The pair of girls had thus far delivered an excellent show; brutally entertaining at first, and now definitely revealing. The french woman instantly regretted her choice of panties that morning, everyone now freely invited to see that dark blue lingerie shaping her ass and clinging snugly to her intimate curves. This was far from the first impression that Lynette had intended for her first match, but there was no time to be coy now, pants or no pants. There was NO WAY she could allow Layla to win now!

Though her body had been battered and bruised, this recent humiliation had sparked a real violence in the woman. She looked at the reeling Layla, who deliciously clutched at her welted face, and without wasting another moment, stepped forward to snatch two handfuls of the short girl's hair, hoping to twist her fingers through it as painfully as possible before jerking Layla's head downward and lifting her own knee upward, orchestrating a kneeblow to the face that was niether flashy nor elegant. Only vicious.

"Beastly girl..." Lynette growled darkly, her riding crop still clutched in her hand through the attempt.

Layla screamed shrilly when Lynette roughly grabbed her by her short black hair, immediately grabbing the offending woman's wrists to try and ease the burning pain in her scalp. Her taking the time to humiliate Lynette by exposing her may have cost her an advantage. But even as the kne rocketed towards her face, Layla just had one thought.

Totally worth it.

And then the blow struck home, and Layla nearly blacked out right there. blood began to trickle out of one of her nostrils, and then she would collapse to the concrete floor, screaming and cluthing her nose.

There was no longer a shred of prudence or sportsmanship in any of Lynette's motions now; Layla may have successfully grinded up a great deal of the french girl's pride, which was braggable, but her method in doing so had resulted in a burst of cruelty that might even make the spectators just over the guard railing have to avert their eyes, as another wave of sympathetic groans echoed through the audience.

Feeling her knee rocket successfully into Layla's face fulfilled a volatile pleasure within Lynette, and the sight of blood almost made her shudder with delight. "Oohh..." she cooed to her opponent as she fell to the ground, and a devious smile crept across her lips, hungrily.

"L'epinette...you know payback's a bitch, don't you?" The french accent tickled her words darkly, and Lynette would deliver a swift kick to Layla's stomach as if she were kicking a soccerball across an empty park. This attack would only serve to force Layla onto her stomach, however, and Lynette would follow with the intention of mercilessly stepping down on the back of Layla's neck with the heel of her boot, her riding crop rolling impatiently in her fingers. Perhaps Layla would prefer her own serving of humiliation.

Layla groaned in pain on the floor, her hand still clutching her now bleeding nose. It was nothing short of a miracle that her nose hadn't broken from that attack.

Layla's eyes then widened, and she let out a hoarse kind of scream when Lynette's high-heeled foot collided with her stomach. It drove just about all her air out of her, and she rolled onto her back clutching her gut. The small fighter coughed in pain, and weakly glared up at her French opponant.

Then she was gagging for dear life as the foot came down across her throat. Imediately Layla grasped Lynette's ankle, trying to push the woman off her, but it was a futile effort. She kicked her legs in a panic, her fae already turning red from lack of air, or was it just from this humilating position.

Lynette's leg locked staunchly as she dug her foot further against Layla's throat, her heel pinning her to the ground and under her control like a veritable collaring. Lynette stared down at the tiny girl with a distinct air of dominance, and she wore that mantle well...especially over a girl like Layla who so desperately deserved this treatment.

Without deigning to speak more mockery quite yet, Lynette bent at her waist without unlocking her stiff chokehold, swooping down like a bird of prey, and with her free hand, snatched the waistband of Layla's own pants, and began to jerk them down her thighs. The method lacked so much bedside manner that it was difficult to tell if Lynette wanted to pull them down and off, or simply rip them directly off of Layla's legs stitch by stitch.

Any resistance to this gesture would be met with her heel digging deeper into Layla's throat; Lynette no longer required or cared if the green-clad girl could breathe, to accomplish her goal. It would just be such a satisfying bonus, if, the entire time, Layla continued to squirm. Lynette licked her lips diabolically, and jerked at the girl's pants again, holding her riding crop down like a fencing saber just beneath Layla's chin. "You won't make me scar that pretty face, now will you, ma cheri?" Her tone was sickly sweet, now, blatantly laced with a poison that no person would feel safe under.

Layla thrashed with just as much force as she had with the earlier leg lock, thrashing her legs and using her arms to desperately remove the leg causing the suffering. The feeling of helplesness returned, and frustrated cry escaped her lips, still glaring daggers at the panty clad woman above her.

Her watery eyes then widened when Lynette reached down for her pants, and it was clear just what the French woman was attmpting to do. Unfortunately for Lynette, in leaning down she had actually made her once dominant position quite vulnerable. Now she was within Layla's striking range. So before Lynette could begin to lower her shorts, Layla brough one of her feet in, reared it back, and then rocketed her sneaker-clad foot directly into Lynette's face!

Just as Lynette was leaning down and begun pulling down her opponent's shorts over one hip to even the odds, and even as she pressed down harder on Layla's windpipe, the french debutante was sudden thwarted and recieved a jarring blow just under her chin, the sneakered foot snapping her head back like an uppercut. Thankfully, Lynette's standing leverage and Layla's shorter legs had spared the European woman's face from catching the blow, but the strike was more than enough to send Lynette reeling off of Layla, teeth rattled and her sensory-perception dazed.

She stumbled back and through force of will and a grace of position, she caught herself on the guardrail behind her, staying on her feet only with its support. She felt a few encouraging caresses brush over her shoulders, enthusiastic fans dying to touch the girls to lend them their support, and Lynette spared just a fleeting moment to give an appreciative but intense glare over her shoulder, as if saying "Now is not the time to fuck with me." Any hopeful notions that the spectators had for perhaps 'copping a feel' were quashed, at least for the moment's instance.

Nursing her chin and wearing a scowl that could freeze hell, Lynette spent the moment clearing her head; to attack again might provoke another ground grapple with Layla, and that was a position she could not afford.

Layla gasped for air as soon as the foot was removed from her throat. She clutched her neck and coughed a few times, before she breathed steadily again. Then, she frantially grabed for the waistband of her shorts and pulled them bak up. Even she had to admit that had been a close one. After all, she didn't want to look as foolish as Lynette did.

Layla rolled to her feet shakily, wiping some of the remaining blood from her nose. SHe glared at Lynette as she rose, keeping a sharp eye on her in case she tried anything. Lukily it seemed like her opponant was holding off for the time being. And Layla wasn't about to go harging at her. Instead, she moved back towards the ring and slipped back inside it, and one inside she beckoned Lynette forth with a wave of her finger.

Lynette was grateful for another respite, but as she watched Layla slip back into the ring and somehow still have the audacity to dare her to challenge, the french woman grit her teeth and looked down at herself. Now that there she wasn't embroiled in the heat of fighting, she had a miserable moment of recollection; she was without her pants, and her unquestionably seductive undergarments were on display. Blushing fiercely but with no time to put them back on, she glowered at Layla in the ring. Of course; she probably wanted her back in the central focus so everyone's eyes could see her in her state of undress.

Lynette was so mad at the situation she stamped her foot out of frustration, and clamored after Layla, again safely using the stairs to enter the ring. Even with her face flushed and the temptation to be distracted by the lustful cheers from the audience, Lynette's eyes were burningly fixed on Layla. If she couldn't embarrass the tiny girl by bringing her down to the revealed level she was, she would just do the next best thing: hurt her and win.

Marching without hesitation up to the girl, she'd forcibly try to lock up with her, forgoing any strike or deception and just embracing the girl in a standing grapple, her strength and height impressing themselves without restraint this time. "You're not done bleeding, girl..." she'd snarl into Layla's ear as Lynette tried to force their bodies close enough to dominate the Canadian physically.