Lord ﹠ Lady Darcy's Fight Club

Announcer: “Welcome to… tonight’s MAIN EVENT at LORD & LADY DARCY’S FIGHT CLUB… This is the FIRST SEMI-FINAL in the tournament to find the new… WOMEN’S NO HOLDS BARRED CHAMPION…” The crowd cheers loudly. “The match rules are simple… NO HOLDS are BARRED… it’s a FIGHT TO THE FINISH… winner by KNOCKOUT or a TKO where one woman quits because she can’t take anymore punishment…” Again, the crowd lets out a loud cheer. “Introducing our… first semi-finalist… she knocked out Anastasia the Brawler in the quarter finals and is a… former… Women’s NHB Champion in the club… hailing from London, England and standing 5’4” tall, weighing in at a solid 170lbs… please welcome… THE BUSTY BRITISH BRUISER… LADY… NICOLA… DARCY!!!...”

Lady_Darcy: I have been waiting backstage for my introduction. Dressed in my blue high waist bikini and white boots, my long brunette hair in a high ponytail, I strut out into the warehouse arena with my fist raised in a salute to the crowd. At 170lbs I have a hefty, voluptuous, physique, my high waist bikini bottom hiding my flabby belly and covering my curvy, fat, ass, while my bikini top bulges to contain my 38DD breasts. Although my legs may be thick, my thighs and calves are muscled and powerful, and my arms clearly have some well-developed biceps. My smiling face has some significant make-up applied, compensating for both my age and also the bruising mileage accumulated in my many previous fights.

Lady_Darcy: As I swagger to the ring I get a mixed reception from the crowd, some boo’s, some cheers. As one of my fans cries out “You gonna win this M’Lady?” I stop and pose for the crowd and reply… “I’m gonna beat this bitch to a pulp!”

Lady_Darcy: My fans whoop and cheer as I show off my voluptuous physique to them before I continue on to the ring. I climb up onto the apron and then duck through into the ring between the middle and top ropes and make my way to my corner, where I stand a little way in from the corner, glaring towards backstage as I wait for my opponent to be introduced.

Georgia_Ellenwood: The lights flicker… then cut to black. A single spotlight hits the top of the ramp. A pulsing synth beat starts thumping through the speakers as the announcer's voice booms again, this time brimming with edge.

Announcer: “And her opponent… she may be younger… but she’s already carved her name into the walls of this blood-stained battlefield… lightning-fast, heartbreakingly relentless… standing 5’7” tall and weighing in at 146 pounds of cold, calculated fury… she’s the VANCOUVER VIPER… the former national track star turned lethal striker… GEORGIA… “GORGEOUS”… ELLENWOOOOD!!”

Georgia_Ellenwood: The crowd explodes as I step out under the spotlight—lean, gleaming with sweat, and laser-focused. I don’t raise a fist. I simply let out a little cute smile. I walk—shoulders squared, arms loose at my sides. My custom Under Armour gear clings to me like it was stitched onto my skin—orange sports bra with black trim, mid-rise compression shorts, and pristine black trainers—built just for this floor, just for this moment. My blonde hair is slicked back in a tight braid, ends whipping behind me as I break into a light jog toward the ring, taking in the adulation from the crowd hyped to see me. I hop up onto the apron in one fluid movement. No wasted motion. My eyes never leave Lady Darcy. She’s already in the ring, trying to intimidate me with her bulk and brashness, but I just smirk. My body is leaner, younger, sharper. Muscle built to cut, not cushion. I dip under the ropes and walk to my corner, rolling my wrists, bouncing on my toes.

Georgia_Ellenwood: Then I speak - soft, yet assertive - "If you think you'll be able to slow me down Madame, you may have had too many strikes to the head." I throw a couple warm-up feints in the corner, legs coiled, ready to spring. My eyes lock on her thick frame across from me. Her experience? Real. Her size? Intimidating. But I’ve broken down bigger. This is a semi-final, and I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to destroy. “Let’s see if all that padding protects you from precision, M’lady…” I mutter under my breath as I bounce forward—ready to drag her into deep water and drown her in it.

Lady_Darcy: I shake my head in disbelief and let out a loud, contemptuous, sigh as you make your entrance and jog towards the ring. I watch your toned, athletic, body as you bounce up and down on your toes and try to taunt me… "If you think you'll be able to slow me down Madame, you may have had too many strikes to the head." Again, I shake my head, and I let out a derisive laugh… I step out into the ring and point at you…

Lady_Darcy: “Look… (with utter contempt in my voice)… Gorgeous… Georgia… if you think that track and field was a good training for the No Holds Barred Fight Ring then you were… sorely… and… painfully… mistaken!” You bounce forward towards me on your toes and I can hear you mutter… “Let’s see if all that padding protects you from precision, M’lady…”… My expression changes from a look of contempt to one of pure anger as you make aspersions about my voluptuous body… I snarl back at you “Look, you dumbass bimbo, I have whupped the ass of women who were twice your size and twice your skill… so you should take this beating as lesson in showing some respect!” I look over at the timekeeper… “RING THE BELL!!” I squeal at him… then turn back to you and crouch down, ready to fight, and beckon you to come and get me…

Lady_Darcy: “Come on then bitch… show me you got something other than a pair of tennis shoes and a smart mouth!...”… DING… DING… DING… the bell rings.

Georgia_Ellenwood: DING… DING… DING… I don’t hesitate. The moment that bell rings, I shoot forward—fluid and fast, like a bullet tearing through the stale warehouse air. My eyes lock onto yours, watching the shift in your stance, the way your thick thighs are braced, how your centre of gravity drops slightly. Good. You're expecting a tackle. I’ll give you something worse. I snap-step left, baiting your weight to shift—then explode right back into centreline with a blistering right-leg low kick aimed at the side of your thick thigh. I throw it with real intent—snappy and fast—just to test how much those legs of yours can take under pressure.

Georgia_Ellenwood: But it’s not just the kick I bring. As I pivot, my upper body twists in sync and I swing my left arm around, cocking it to fire off a high forearm smash toward your cheek if you’re slow to react. My voice spits out through clenched teeth, breath short, focused. “Come on then, Lady Lardass. Let’s test what decades of sitting on your ass has done to your reflexes.” Whether the shot lands or not, it’s just the beginning. I’m not here to play safe—I’m here to carve you up piece by piece, and if I’ve got to cut through that thick meat and ego first? So be it.

Lady_Darcy: Just as I suspected, you are banking on your speed and athleticism, the moment the bell rings you come flying at me, looking to overwhelm me with your striking skills. I have taken up a solid, well grounded, stance and when your kick to my thigh flies out, I ride the kick, my powerful, fleshy, thigh ripples from the kick but the blow doesn’t move me. I am made of solid stuff, and I am sending a message that some flashy lightweight kicks aren’t going to move me.

Lady_Darcy: And now you follow up with the obvious forearm smash… I could defend it, but again I want you to get the message… I take the blow on the jaw; it twists my head to the side… but again it doesn’t move me. You spit out a taunt, “Come on then, Lady Lardass. Let’s test what decades of sitting on your ass has done to your reflexes.”

Lady_Darcy: As I twist my head back from the forearm smash, I grin at you, letting you know how easily I have taken your blows… and now it is my turn. Lady Lardass huh? I think to myself, well the champion boxer Ebanie Bridges says that punching power is all in the legs and the ass, and you’re right, I do have a fat ass and thick, powerful legs and thighs and now I’m going to use them… I fire back with a powerful forearm smash at your jaw, leaning my thick, hefty, body into the blow… aiming to rattle your teeth and head… lesson number one for the cocky bitch… don’t underestimate me… I may be old, I may be hefty, but I hit like a freight train…

Georgia_Ellenwood: CRACK! Your forearm slams into my jaw with the weight of a sledgehammer, and for the first time in the match—my lean body jolts. My head whips to the side, spit flying as the sheer force of it rocks through me. My braid snaps like a whip from the impact, and my back foot skids across the mat, barely catching traction before I stumble a step to the side. I let out a breath between clenched teeth, my jaw aching already, head ringing slightly—but my eyes? Still locked on yours. My lips curl upward into a grin that's equal parts impressed… and dangerous.

Georgia_Ellenwood: “Okay…” I breathe, my tongue running along my lip, tasting blood. “So, you do hit like a freight train. Shame no one told you trains are easier to derail than they look.” I don’t back off though... Instead, I step into you—close, too close—my hands coming up quick to clinch behind your neck, aiming to control that bulky frame before you can wind up another bomb. My knee shoots up from below—aimed directly at the soft underside of your gut, right above your bikini line—while I use my lean frame to stay low and press in, trying to smother your ability to throw clean power. “Let’s see if that ass can move when you’re not planted like a damn statue.” I don't care how thick you are—I came here to shred champions, not worship them.

Lady_Darcy: My forearm smash rocks your head and you stumble. I smirk gloatingly, looks like you just learned the hard way not to underestimate me. But my moment of satisfaction is a moment of hesitation too long, you are fast after all, and one solid hit was never going to be enough to put you away. The look on your face, a mix of shock, anger, and determination, shows you’re far from done and you fly back at me, faster than I can react. You step up to me, your arms flying up and your hands going behind the back of my neck to hold me in place. Then your knee comes flying up at speed into my flabby gut… UFFFFFFFFFFF…. I exhale a huge grunt as your knee digs deep into the flesh, my upper body doubling forward into your body… but my thick, powerful, legs hold firm. You knocked the wind out of me, but not my fighting instincts, and you have got us up close to each other.

Lady_Darcy: I push my head down past your chest and under your armpit, while throwing my left arm up over your shoulder and around your neck behind your head and dropping my right arm to grab your left leg behind the thigh and knee. Gasping for air, puffing and panting, from the impact of your knee, I still have my intrinsic raw power, and I clasp onto you, looking to use my strength and powerful legs to lift you up and throw you over me in a fisherman’s suplex….

Valenzuela: I’m up on my feet the moment I see that knee land, right into Darcy’s soft gut! My fingers tighten around the edge of the barrier, knuckles white, eyes locked in. “That’s it, Georgia!” I shout. “You see that? She felt that, drive it in again! Stay on her, Chica!” “Drop your weight!” I bark. “Anchor that leg, Georgia! She wants the lift, don’t let her plant those fucking tree trunks!”

Georgia_Ellenwood: Your gasp is still in my ear as your thick frame powers through the knee—and I feel it. That heavy body pressing in. Those powerful legs digging into the mat like damn tree trunks. You’re winded but not wilting. And in the blink of an eye, I feel your head dip low and your arms coil around me like I’m prey. Shit. Your left arm snakes around my neck, and your right latches onto my leg like a vice—hauling it up as I’m yanked off-balance. I grunt, hands scrabbling for control, but I can feel you plant deep, your centre of gravity turning into an anchor as the lift begins. My leg’s caught. My body’s tilted. You’re damn strong for someone who's wheezing through every breath.

Georgia_Ellenwood: My back arches as I’m hoisted upward into the start of that fisherman’s suplex—and in that half-second of vertical suspension, time slows. But I’m still Georgia Ellenwood. Still fast. Still dangerous. As you begin the pull and commit to the throw, I twist my upper body—snapping my left elbow down toward your face or collarbone, trying to throw you off mid-lift. If I land it, I might break your rhythm and crash us both back into a heap. If not… Well then, Lady Darcy might just be about to spike me into the mat like a damn javelin.

Lady_Darcy: I get a good grip of you and start to lift, my thick body straining, the power of my legs demonstrated as my thighs bulge. I can hear the crowd screaming for you to fight it and I can tell that you are trying, your athletic and gymnastic skills allow you to twist in my grip... Ufff... you smack me in the face with an elbow... but I am lot tougher and although my suplex is not perfect... I still get you up and over...

Lady_Darcy: I fall onto the canvas on my back, a little stunned from your blow to my face... but you come crashing down onto the canvas... I let out a grunt and roll up onto my side, my left hand comes up to clasp my face where you elbowed me... I shake my head in annoyance and then move my hand and spit a small wad of saliva and blood onto the canvas... I snort angrily, annoyed that you caught me as I suplexed you, then roll up onto my knees and twist around, reaching out, grabbing your hair to pull you, pulling right arm back ready to send a forearm smash into your cute face in retaliation for the blow you landed on me...

Lady_Darcy: Down on the canvas your height advantage is mitigated, but my strength and size advantage still hold good, let's see how much you can take if we slug it out on our knees...

Georgia_Ellenwood: THUD. The ring shudders beneath our bodies as your not-quite-clean fisherman suplex still delivers me to the mat with bruising finality. My spine arches instinctively on impact, a hiss of pain escaping my clenched jaw. My toned limbs scatter for balance, one leg bent, one stretched—every muscle tensed in that half-second between pain and adrenaline. Meanwhile, you hit hard too. I hear your grunt. Feel the vibrations of your fall. See you rolling up onto your side as the ring lights flicker above me. You're tough—grit in every grunt. Your left hand cradles your jaw where my elbow caught you on the way down, and you spit blood like it’s just routine.

Georgia_Ellenwood: Then I feel it—my hair yanked viciously, head jerked back with no grace, no hesitation. The crowd roars at the brutality as I’m dragged up to my knees. My breathing is rough, chest rising and falling. My abs tighten reflexively, my left arm clutching your wrist, trying to ease the pull on my scalp as I feel your weight lean in. Then I see it—that ham-hock of a forearm chambered like a missile, and I brace just enough to take it without folding. CRACK. The blow hammers my cheekbone, sending a cascade of sweat and spit flying from my mouth, a whiplash sting cutting across my jawline. My braid lashes out like a snapped rope, neck jolting sideways—but I stay kneeling. My whole face burns with heat, with pressure, but I keep my eyes locked on yours. And through bloodied lips, I grin. “That all you got tubby?”

Georgia_Ellenwood: My left-hand lashes out fast, open palm, slapping across your face—not for damage, but distraction. At the same time, I slam my right fist upward— aimed to land hard into the soft underside of your ribs, just above your waistband. No wasted motion. Just pain. You grunt, your grip loosening slightly—just enough. Because that’s when I twist my hips and drive my elbow into the side of your neck, targeting the carotid. The point of my elbow lands sharp, right at the sweet spot where blood supply meets muscle. And I don’t stop. As your head jerks, I bring my other hand around and drive a tight, punishing punch straight into the solar plexus, aiming to cut off your breath, to paralyze that big chest of yours, mid-growl. “Let’s see how your queen-sized lungs like this.” Your body lurches, your grip falters—and now I’m rising, just enough to push up onto one foot. I stay low, hungry, unforgiving, ready to keep hammering you in the vitals until your size stops being a weapon and starts becoming a liability.

Lady_Darcy: My forearm smash again rocks your world, your head jolts back, sweat and saliva flies into the air, and I grin gloatingly at you, confident that my punching power is going to beat you senseless. But I am overconfident, one swallow does not make a summer, and one hard smash to your face clearly isn’t enough. You rock back up to a kneeling position and whip a slap across my face… Ahhhh… I squeal as my face twists to the side… my left hand comes up to hold my cheek as my head turns back straight, a look of astonishment, eyes wide open on my face… “Why you snotty cow!...” I squeal and draw my right arm back to send another smash into your face… but too slow… your right fist has already lashed out and driven into the left side of my ribs… Ufff… I exhale a grunt and rock forward as my belly fat and breasts wobble from the impact, my head droops down… right into the path of your left elbow which drives into my neck, my head and upper body shake, my high ponytail whiplashes, from the impact…

Lady_Darcy: I’m dazed, stunned, hurting, your speed has just overwhelmed me and the flurry of blows has seriously rocked me… but I am a tough woman and I start my fight back, reaching out to try and grab your hair again, but… UFFFF… again you beat me to the punch, literally, straight into my solar plexus, again my flesh wobbles and ripples and I grunt loudly, my head drops down again, my hands fall down onto the canvas to hold me up… I’m hurt and in a bad position, I know I need to get up before you do… or at least as soon as I can, because you are already getting up, and if you get up on your feet with me down on the canvas… I am in big trouble… I push my upper body up, back to my kneeling position, and start to lift one on my legs up, planting my boot to push myself up to my feet, my face is flushed, and I am gasping for air…

Georgia_Ellenwood: You’re wobbling. You’re dazed. Your body’s betraying you in real time, every breath a laboured gasp, every move a grind against pain—and I see it. Your cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and even through the fight, there’s a moment where I respect your grit. But I don’t hesitate. Your boot plants, your body starts to rise—and that’s my cue. I explode off my knees like a sprinter off the blocks, my lean frame coiled and loaded, and I step into you just as you're halfway standing, your torso exposed, your balance unsteady. “Nope. Stay the hell down, Duchess.”

Georgia_Ellenwood: I lash out with a low right kick—brutal and sharp—aimed straight at the side of your planted knee, the one trying to get you vertical. I don’t care about finesse here—I'm targeting your base, trying to cut your rise short with a jolt of pure pain to that overworked joint. If it lands, it won’t buckle you entirely—but it'll make you regret standing. Then, without breaking momentum, I drive forward with my left shoulder, trying to slam into your chest and tackle you flat onto your back. I’m not just looking for a knockdown—I’m looking to steamroll you. If you go down, I go with you—riding you down, straddling your waist, my forearm pinning your throat as I lower my weight, face inches from yours. Sweat drips from my brow, onto your cheek.

Georgia_Ellenwood: “You’ve got guts, Lady Darcy…” I growl, voice low, jagged with adrenaline. “…but all that weight ain’t gonna save you if I crush your lungs before you even get your hands up again”. Whether you push me off or try to buck me, I’m already shifting, ready to pour on pressure, and if you don’t resist? Then this is the moment the crowd watches a legend begin to fade.

Lady_Darcy: As I try to get back up to my feet you are on me immediately, lashing out with your leg, kicking me hard, and sending me back down onto my knee. My head rocks and my ponytail flails as I drop back down, I grunt loudly… Uggg… and take a gulp of air as I again start to try and get up…

Lady_Darcy: … but again, you’re too fast for me… UFFF… I exhale another grunt as your shoulder slams into my impressive 38DD chest, my arms flail outwards as the impact sends me falling backwards down onto the canvas on my back… CRACK… the back of my head painfully hits the canvas… for a moment I am dazed and then I realize how bad the situation is… you’re straddling me, squatting on my thick belly, ready to punch my lights out… and you want to gloat about it… leaning down, getting your face just above mine, so close your sweat is dripping down onto my face, you taunt me… “You’ve got guts, Lady Darcy… but all that weight ain’t gonna save you if I crush your lungs before you even get your hands up again”

Lady_Darcy: Trapped under you, hurting and dazed, my many years of ring experience kicks in, instinctively I lift my arms off the canvas and bring my hands in between our faces and… rake your eyes… it’s no holds barred… I may be old and fat… but I am tough and… I am mean!... And I am going to fight as dirty as I have to… after going for your eyes, I reach out for the blonde hair again to pull your head and body to my side to roll you off of me…

Georgia_Ellenwood: The second your back hits the mat, I feel it—the shift in momentum, the weight of your thick frame underneath mine, the ring quaking beneath both of us. My shoulder buried into your chest felt damn good—the way you grunted, the way your arms flailed wide, the way your heavy body bounced under me. I straddled your belly before you could breathe, hips low, hands ready to rain hell. “You’re finished, Darcy.” I hissed, my breath hot against your cheek, the sweat from my brow falling onto your reddened face. “This is how queens get dethroned.” But I underestimated the one thing I should’ve known better. Your mean streak.

Georgia_Ellenwood: Suddenly—“AH—SHIT!”Your fingers rake across my eyes, nails scraping with pure venom. It’s blinding. I yank my head back instinctively, blinking furiously, momentarily seeing only white and stars. My hands shoot to my face—an instinctual, desperate defence—and that’s when you grab my hair. You twist hard, dragging me sideways. My balance teeters, and with your thick arms pulling and belly shifting under me like a bucking wave, you manage to roll me off, the canvas thumping as we land side by side in a sweaty heap. I scramble, one hand still at my stinging eye, the other reaching for the mat to push off. My chest is heaving, heart pounding, adrenaline burning like fire in my lungs. I hear the crowd howling—some booing the eye rake, others loving every inch of the chaos.

Georgia_Ellenwood: I shake my head, blink hard, trying to clear my vision as I turn back toward you. You're already trying to rise—cheeks flushed, chest rising, your face painted with the kind of pain that only experience feeds off of. “Alright, you filthy hag…” I spit to the side, eyes still watery, voice rasping with fury. “…let’s make this ugly.” No more cute combos. No more gloating. Now it’s a brawl. And I’m coming for your throat.

Lady_Darcy: Gotcha! My eye rake and hair pull gets you off of me, rolling away to my side. Puffing, panting, my 38DD chest heaving, my fleshy belly heaving in and out, I roll up onto my knees. I see you are now trying to get up and… I’m not going to let you get away… now it’s my turn… I reach out and grab your hair again to stop you getting up and to hold your head in place…

Lady_Darcy: … and then I let fly with a big right hook aimed at the left side of your head, leaning my hefty, voluptuous, upper body behind the blow, my 38DD tits swaying wildly.

Lady_Darcy: And once I have got you down, I am going to plant my hefty, voluptuous, 170lbs of body squatting on top of your belly and give you a pounding with my right fist… let’s see how tough you are and how much you can take… I can take a beating, I have taken many in my career, let’s see if you can do the same or if you are just some snowflake who’s gonna yell for her momma…

Georgia_Ellenwood: You lurch up onto your knees, huffing like a warhorse, sweat rolling down every curve and crevice of your battle-worn frame—and I know what’s coming. You’re not graceful, not sneaky—but you’re relentless. And right now, you’ve got momentum and fury on your side. You grab my hair again—yanking my head back violently, fingers digging in like claws. My scalp screams, my neck cranes—and then the storm hits. CRACK!

Georgia_Ellenwood: Your right hook smashes into the side of my head with a meaty thud, the power from your thick body driving it home like a freight train. My vision snaps white for a moment. I stagger sideways onto the mat, legs tangled, brain scrambling. I barely get my forearm up in time to soften the landing, but I’m still down, teeth clenched, one cheek pressed to the canvas. And then—just like you promised—you drop. Your full 170 pounds comes crashing down onto my stomach, and the air erupts from my lungs in one violent gust. “UGHH—!”

Georgia_Ellenwood: My body jolts under the weight, my legs kicking involuntarily, the pressure in my gut turning to fire. You straddle me wide, flesh spilling across my hips and ribs, and your right fist cocks back. The first punch hammers down—smashing into my face. My head jerks to the side. Then another. And another. Brutal, raw, and delivered with bad intentions. But I don’t scream. I don’t cry out for momma. Even as the canvas turns slick with sweat and spit and the thudding punches threaten to cave my face in—I fight. Because this is why I came here. Not to run. Not to fold. But to see if I could survive a war like this.

Georgia_Ellenwood: My arms shoot up—not cleanly, not perfectly—but I wrap one around your punching arm and the other behind your back, locking you close, pulling you into a clinch even as my head throbs. I use your own weight against you—shifting, rolling my hips, trying to create just enough torque to tilt us, to turn you off-balance. My legs plant. My abs scream in protest—but I bridge hard. “Not today, Darcy…” I snarl through bloodied lips, voice raw and defiant. “You’ll have to KILL me to beat me.” With a desperate burst, I roll us sideways, trying to reverse position, to get on top, to reclaim air, momentum—everything. Because I’m not a snowflake. I’m Fucking Georgia Ellenwood. And this fight is still mine to take.

Lady_Darcy: I plant my hefty 170lbs on your belly, grab your hair and start to pound my right fist into your face, a wicked, snarling, grin on my face as I pummel you. Puff… puff… puff… I exhale with each blow, the exertion of the fight now showing clearly in my laboured breathing and the sweat drip off my voluptuous body. I may not be as young as you, as trim and athletically fit as you, I am just a mean old bitch who enjoys punching the lights out of some young wannabe fighter, and I am enjoying being on top and beating you to a pulp. And it’s quite clear that you aren’t enjoying it and you realize the danger in your current predicament. Suddenly you make a grab with your arms, your left hand reaching out and grabbing my right wrist to stop me punching you in the face, while your right reaches out and wraps around my thick waist and pulls me towards you. “What???...” I squeal in surprise as suddenly the earth moves, or more precisely you athletically bridge up with your body and start to roll me over…

Lady_Darcy: “No… NO!...” I squeal in annoyance, but I can’t stop the motion as we roll over and you are now on top of me, still holding my right wrist with your left hand and my left hand gripping your hair. I realize that if you get your right arm and hand free that you can now reverse the situation and punch me in the face, giving me the beating I was giving to you. I pull hard on your hair, trying to get your head down close to my head, your body pulled down close to mine, so that you’ll have no room to swing punches at me…

Georgia_Ellenwood: Your punches come down like wrecking balls—each one landing with that heavy thud of pure mass behind it. I feel my jaw rattle, my lips split, my head bounce slightly off the mat from the sheer bluntness of it all. Every blow sends a spray of sweat into the air, and through the fog of pain and swelling heat across my face, I hear your laboured, smug breaths: “Puff… puff… puff…” Your fist keeps flying, your chest heaving, the scent of sweat and leather thick in the air. You’re relishing every second. A seasoned bruiser pounding out punishment on a younger, faster, but currently pinned fighter. And I know if I let you keep going, you will break me. But I’m not built to break easy. So, I fight.

Georgia_Ellenwood: I raise my left arm with everything I’ve got left and snatch your wrist mid-swing—locking it down hard, stopping that next bomb in its tracks. You snarl, confused, but I’m already in motion. My right arm snakes around your waist, my hand digging into the slick, sweaty curve of your back, using your own leverage against you. “Time to get the hell off me.” My abs tighten. My heels dig into the mat. And then—with everything I have left—I bridge. The crowd erupts as I roll us over, my frame twisting and arching beneath your bulk, until we crash down again—with me on top now, sweat-slicked hair clinging to my face, lips bloody—but alive.

Georgia_Ellenwood: “No… NO!” you squeal, your voice shrill with shock, and I feel your panic kick in. You still have my hair, your thick fingers twisting and yanking, trying to smother me in close, trying to stop me from doing exactly what’s about to happen. But I’ve got your wrist pinned. And now, I’ve got my right arm free. “You wanna fight dirty, Lady?” I growl through gritted teeth, our chests heaving, faces inches apart, breath hot between us. “Let’s go real dirty.” I ram my forehead forward—not a clean headbutt, but a grind of skull against your nose and cheekbone, just to disorient. While you flinch, even for a half second, I rip my hair free from your grip with a violent jerk backward, and then—BOOM.

Georgia_Ellenwood: My right fist slams into the side of your jaw. Then again. And again. Fast, brutal, piston-like—no wasted motion, no gloating. Just revenge. Your head jerks from side to side under me, your body bucking, but you’re pinned now. Pinned the way you wanted me. “How’s that feel, huh?!” I shout through ragged breaths, each punch fuelled by the ones you gave me, each strike a message: You’re not the only one who knows how to beat a woman bloody.

Lady_Darcy: This has been a much tougher fight than I expected, fought at a much higher tempo, exposing the gap in our conditioning. But I had been able to get you down on your back, underneath me, and use my size to deliver you a beating, bloodying your face, my sort of fight. Then, surprising me, you reversed the situation, rolling me over onto my back… trapping my hefty, voluptuous, body, beneath you, one arm pinned to the canvas by your grip on my wrist and my other hand gripping your hair. I pull your head down, trying to smother your position so that you can’t punch me with your free right hand… Arrrrghhh!!!... you deliver a short headbutt into my face, hitting my nose… it’s not a hard headbutt you don’t have the distance to pull your head back, but it makes me squeal and close my eyes… enough time for you to grab my left hand with your right and break my grip on your hair… and let your upper body pull up into the air…

Lady_Darcy: “NO… NO!...” I squeal, now realizing my impending predicament as I see your right fist clenched and your arm pulled back… Uggg… you smash your fist into my face, cracking against my jaw, dazing me badly… my head pressed against the canvas cannot recoil… you raise your arm again, I fling up my left hand and arm to try and defend against your blow… Ugggg… the punch gets through and smacks into my left eye socket… I wave my left arm trying to catch your right but again… UGGGG… another in the left eye, cutting me above the eye socket, a mouse starting to grow below the eye socket… I try to turn my head back and forth to make my face a more difficult target… you pause… UGGGGG… you time your blow, cracking into my nose, which starts to gush blood… I start kicking my legs, beating my feet against the canvas, rolling my head from side to side… UGGGG… your punch hits the right eye socket as I am twisting my head back and forth and exposing both sides of my face, which is now covered in blood…

Lady_Darcy: ARRRRGHH!!... I let out a loud grunt as I try to use your move and bridge you off to the side, pulling my left leg up and planting my boot, using my powerful thigh muscles I try to twist… but at 5’4” with short legs I just can’t get the leverage, I only get an inch or so off the canvas… as I my hefty body flops back down onto my back another punch comes into my face… URRRGGGG… cracking against my jaw again, my eyelids are blinking, my eyes glassy… this is my last chance before I am beaten to a senseless pulp… I jab out with my left hand towards your face, towards those eyes of yours, a desperate eye gouge either to get you off me or if you catch my arm to stop the gouge, at least you won’t be able to continue punching my lights out…

Georgia_Ellenwood: You scream beneath me—bloodied, heaving, squirming—your voice echoing in the rafters of the warehouse arena, raw with desperation. But I don’t hear mercy. I hear fear. I hear that moment when your body starts asking questions your pride doesn’t have the answers for. And right now? I’m the one doing the answering. You flail beneath me, your thick legs thrashing, boots pounding against the mat as I ride your belly—hips locked low, pinning you like a livewire. Sweat drips off my body, smearing across your bruised, reddened chest and face as I drive my right fist into your eye socket again. UGGGGHH.

Georgia_Ellenwood: The sound is awful—wet, blunt, final. Your eye’s swelling now. Your once-defiant glare fading under the weight of every punch. I pause for just a second—just to see it. Your face is a mess of blood, snot, sweat, and mascara. My work. My chest rises and falls, heart hammering, my knuckles numb. You try to twist again, bridging, legs flexing hard beneath me—and I feel the surge in your hips—but it goes nowhere. Your short frame can’t generate the lift, and you crash right back down under me with a fleshy thud. You’re not rolling me off. Not tonight.

Georgia_Ellenwood: So, I cock back my arm again, knuckles dripping, eyes narrowed. And then I see it. Your left-hand lunges toward my face—wild, clawing, groping for my eyes like a drowning woman grasping for air. Not clean. Not precise. Just desperate. My instincts flare—I shift just enough to the right, your fingers grazing my cheek, close to the socket. Too close. I snatch your wrist out of the air with my left hand—BAM!—locking it down tight, palm-to-wrist, slamming it hard to the canvas beside your head. “No more tricks, you vile old bitch.” I growl, face just inches from yours, blood from your nose smearing across my abs as I lean in.

Georgia_Ellenwood: You’re panting now, cheeks puffing, eyelids blinking out of sync. I can feel your pulse hammering beneath me, your limbs twitching more than moving now. “You’re not tough.” My voice is cold, breathless from exertion. “You’re just stubborn. There’s a difference. And I’m about to beat the truth into you.” I press up slightly, straddling higher, my right arm raised like a guillotine. The crowd roars—some cheering your resilience, others begging me to end it. And then I rain the fists... one aimed for the jaw. One aimed into the same spot above your eye. And one aimed for the centre of your forehead. “Still want to fight, M’lady?” I sneer, our bodies glimmering as beautifully as the fight has been vicious...

Lady_Darcy: My situation is desperate, trapped under you, my face being reduced to a bloody, bruised, mess, my consciousness almost gone. I play my last card for a chance to get out of this, an eye gouge… so close, so close,… my left hand grazes your face… but it misses and before I can try again you have grabbed that arm as well and forced it down onto the canvas… and there we are, your left arm pinning my right wrist to the canvas from earlier and now your right arm pinning my left wrist to the canvas. My face is covered in blood, sweat, and mascara, my left eye socket now swollen shut, my right eye socket badly bruised, my nose swollen and bleeding, blood and drool seeping out of my mouth, I’m done, I’m beaten, and you want me to know it, you cruelly taunt me.

Lady_Darcy: You lean your face down to mine, “You’re not tough. You’re just stubborn. There’s a difference. And I’m about to beat the truth into you.” you gloat. My eyes are fluttering, gurgling blood and saliva as I pant and puff, I draw a breath and then… spit blood and saliva into your face. A pathetic act of defiance, but an act of defiance. Furious you let go of my left wrist with your right hand and pull your right arm back, immediately I start to struggle, instinctively I know it is hopeless, but I try to bridge with my thick legs, barely getting us off the canvas, I rock my head from side to side and reach up with my left arm, clutching for anything with my left hand, with my left eye swollen shut I can’t see what I might clutch at but I try.

Lady_Darcy: Then your right fist comes slamming down into my jaw, brutally jolting my head, and my struggling stops instantly, my legs collapse, my arm falls down to the canvas, only my head rolls gently from side to side now. I moan pathetically… urrr… urr… until your fist comes down again, cruelty beyond imagination, targeting my already swollen shut left eye… ARRRRRRRRGHH!!!... I let out a huge, agonized scream of pain that silences the crowd. You pull your right fist back for the coup de grace and slam it brutally into my forehead. My head rolls to the side, my eyelids fluttering, you lean in again… “Still want to fight, M’lady?” is your sneering gloat. In one last gasp I hiss, “Fuuuucck… you” and then my eyelids close and my head rolls back motionless, my voluptuous body is limp, my 38DD tits sagging, my thick legs and arms spreadeagled… I’m done, beaten senseless, I’m out cold.

Georgia_Ellenwood: Your body goes slack beneath me—utterly still. The thump of my final punch echoes like a cannon shot in the stunned silence of the crowd. Your head rolls to the side, eyelids fluttering, your swollen, bloodied face barely recognizable beneath the bruises, cuts, and smeared makeup. You mutter those last two words—rasped from somewhere deep in your defiant, wrecked soul: “Fuuuucck… you…”

Georgia_Ellenwood: And then you're gone. Eyes shut. Limbs heavy. Your thick arms flopped uselessly, legs spread, chest barely rising under the weight of your own exhaustion. That once-snarling, seasoned powerhouse… reduced to a silent, motionless heap under me. I stay there for a beat longer—breathing hard, sweat raining off my face, my knuckles aching, coated in blood that isn’t even mine. The sting of your spit still lingers on my cheek. That final act of rebellion. I give a slow, grudging nod. Even out cold, you kept your edge. “Respect,” I mutter, barely above a whisper—just for you, even if you can’t hear it anymore. Then I rise. My knees creak, my abs shudder, and I push off your ruined body with effort. The referee slides in beside us, his hand checking your wrist, your breathing… and then he throws up the signal:

Announcer: “YOUR WINNER… BY KNOCKOUT… THE VANCOUVER VIPER… GEORGIA… “GORGEOUS”… ELLENWOOOOD!!”

Georgia_Ellenwood: It’s over. The crowd finally finds its voice—a thunderous, roaring wave crashing over us. Some in awe. Some disgusted. Some exhilarated. But none are unmoved. I stagger to my feet, arms raised—not out of celebration, but in survival. Blood streaks down my torso. My hair is a damp tangle. My eye is swollen too. But I’m standing. “That’s how a champion gets made,” I say hoarsely, looking out at the crowd, then back down at your battered frame, “and how legends get retired.” This wasn’t just a win. It was war. And tonight…I walked out alive to face another legend in the not-so-distant future...

Published: 2025-06-24, viewed 102 times.