Mixed wrestling, 260 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.

How often have we witnessed a fight start over the most ridiculous, trivial dispute? This often happens when people have been drinking, so perhaps there is at least some excuse for excessive reactions to minor or imagined slurs. But sober people have been known to fight over such things as parking spaces, walking in pairs on a pavement, and so on.

So we come to an argument over a name, that saw Sunrise and Craig face each other in a cage. Sunrise had recently moved to the area. She was a keen MMA fighter and lost no time in joining the local club. She was Japanese, with those delicate, subtle features that some Asian women have. She was welcomed into the club as something of a celebrity, who it was hoped would bring an Eastern style to their matches.

But it all went downhill when she was introduced to Craig, a rather cocksure fighter in the male team. He laughed when he heard her name, and explained that it was “Dawn” in English.

“No,” she answered prettily but firmly, “the literal English translation of my name is ‘Sunrise’.”

“But it’s the same thing!” Craig stated, baffled.

“I don’t care,” she insisted fiercely. “I will teach you my proper name, in the cage. Right now!”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that’s how this fight started, and neither of them had even had a drink.

Craig was taken aback, but he was so pig-headed he couldn’t compromise. Other club members tried to talk them both out of it: “think you should apologise”, “sure he didn’t mean it”, and so on. But the two of them were adamant. Craig said she was making a ridiculous fuss about a little joke, and Sunrise argued that he needed some “Asian correction”. So within minutes, the club members retired to the wings, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders, leaving Sunrise and Craig to face off in the cage.

There was a thrill of excitement and anticipation when Sunrise took guard. She wore a glossy black leotard, daringly cut over the breasts, and sparsely cut over the back, so that the middle of her back was bare, as were the buttocks. The outfit was completed with matching boots and MMA gloves. The club members had seen Craig face off many times; but Sunrise looked as if she could be a Spitfire of a fighter.

She kicked high, broadside on. It was a tester really, to probe her opponent’s reactions, and Craig duly leant out of its path. He tried a right hook to the ribs; she leant back in turn and replied with a body kick that he escaped. Their bodies were almost touching, and Craig willingly took hold of Sunrise’s waist, leering down at her wonderful, rounded, womanly bottom. She joined in the grappling, but he managed to bring her down to one knee. She glared up at him defiantly.

Craig was overpowering her. She put her right hand down to support herself, but he was intent on getting her on her back. He revolted her by putting a large, grubby hand over her face. Her reaction pleased him so much that he failed to notice her legs snaking either side of his middle. Not until it was too late, and she had flipped him onto his backside.

Agile as a cat, Sunrise whipped her legs round his neck, still scowling at him. Supporting herself on both hands, she applied her legs to the scissor. She moved to the side slightly, to give herself more room and her thighs greater purchase. Then she squeezed. Craig flailed about, his hands trying to free his neck.

However, she wasn’t in the best position for the scissor, because about half her strength was taken up in supporting herself on her hands. At the same time, Craig only had the freeing of his neck to think of; and in a rare exception to the scissor rule, he actually did manage to prize himself free. There followed some confused grappling, and he used his formidable strength to work her on top of him, face up.

“You dirty bastard!” Sunrise hissed, as he grabbed her left breast, her sex, and rubbed his groin against her bottom.

“I know!” he chuckled, “I love it!” He was, of course, goading her; but he still enjoyed the sensations.

Yet the mind games and taunting are all very well, but if they distract the person who is indulging in them, they can be a dangerous tactic. Sunrise proved this by leaping up his body and head locking him. With her right arm around his neck, she locked it firmly by joining it in the grip of her left hand. More worryingly for Craig, she placed her right boot on his groin.

“Not so happy with this against your cock, are you?” she whispered in his ear, prodding with her boot, while increasing the pressure on his neck. He winced with the effort of breathing.

Using the head lock, she flipped him up and over so that she now imprisoned his neck in her left arm and used her right hand to support it. With his head on the mat and his backside in the air, she coiled her left leg over his right one, and kept his left leg at bay with her right foot.

Sunrise then bundled him onto his side. Facing in the opposite direction, she hooked her left thigh over his neck, half-scissoring it. Securing his free arm and leg with her hands, she stared hard at his manhood, inches below her face, like a student fascinated with her subject. As he was wearing shorts, she seemed to be trying to guess its quality (and quantity).

Looking to pin him, Sunrise found Craig’s great ham of a hand on her face again, trying to push her away. His other, right hand was doing to the same to her shoulder. It worked, and he flung her off him. She landed expertly, instantly swivelling round to face him.

The combatants exchanged glares while they stood up. Their mutual loathing increased the excitement of the spectators in the wings. They ran at each other. Sunrise swerved at the last moment, avoiding a clash with the heavier fighter. When they crossed, she whipped off his shorts. Astonished, Craig stood with his hands over his manhood, while Sunrise sniggered.

With an oath, he flung a left cross at her, which she ducked under. When he tried a right, she stretched her body back and down, so that his fist sailed past her face. A further left went harmlessly over her right shoulder. Now he was the one that was furious, and she was the one doing the taunting. What increased his rage was that they both knew she had turned the tables psychologically on him.

By a jerk of the head, Sunrise escaped a massive straight right. She positively danced out of the way of a left, giggling as she did. Then, in a skilful little move, she synchronised a hook kick to his side and a punch on his ear. Even worse for Craig, she was showing him how to do it after he had failed, and she punched him firmly on the jaw. Worst of all for him, she was enjoying herself, laughing as her fist slapped home.

“I love it!” she taunted him, recalling his earlier jibe.

“Bitch!” Craig spat back, throwing a wild left that she hopped out of the way of.

Following through, he stooped beside her. Well, what a gift! Once again, she locked her arms together around his neck, this time enclosing his left arm below his shoulder as well. He remained in the ungainly stoop while she ratcheted up the choke, his left arm useless, and his right too far away to be of any use.

Confident in her growing mastery, Sunrise left off with her right hand, allowing her strong left arm to do all the work around his neck and arm, and tweaked his nose mischievously. It drove him mad with fury. But then she turned it into a claw, so its purpose was more than just to infuriate him after all.

As he was stooping, she had to adopt the same posture, and the men in the wings gazed admiringly at her curvy figure. They noted with envy how her left breast was squeezed up against the side of Craig’s face. They saw the slight ripple of the sturdy muscles in her bottom as she put still more pressure into the choke.

Sunrise used the hold to bring him down onto his front. She lay over him, relinquishing his weakened arm, but not giving up such a valuable advantage over him as that choke.

Indeed, even when she changed position, she kept it going. Lying to the side of him now, she snapped her thighs shut over his right arm and locked it, converting the hold into a rear naked choke. Linking her arms once more, she went to work both on his neck and on his arm, heaving it with her mighty thighs.

She felt him go weak and limp. Sensing victory, she released him, looking forward to a bit of posing. She didn’t expect to be choked in turn. Craig had been “playing dead”. It’s a shoddy tactic; risky too, in case you really are beaten but your opponent doesn’t believe it. But on this occasion, it worked.

Instead of standing over him, Sunrise found herself first scooped upwards, feet in the air, then with Craig’s beefy right arm enclosing her neck. But she had practically rendered that arm useless with her recent hauling of it. He was frustrated to find it had almost no strength. Yes, he had surprised her; but she had already drained him of the ability to profit from it.

Proudly descended from a Japanese warrior caste, Sunrise wasn’t going to let a setback sway her from her purpose. She removed his arm, with no more effort than if she were dusting a shelf, pushed him onto his front, and resumed her head lock.

“I showed you how to box earlier, now I’m showing you how to wrestle,” she murmured down at him. “How do you like that? Anyway, it’s time for another lesson!”

So saying, she knelt either side of his head and gripped both his arms, in what could only be called a “kneeling head scissor”. This was quickly turned into a camel clutch. Sitting on the small of his back, with her hands at his throat, she merrily pushed with her middle and pulled with her hands. His bones, tendons and joints creaked and cracked as his stomach, ribs, shoulders and battered neck took the strain. Then she returned to her earlier face claw, one hand now under his chin to maintain the camel clutch.

Sunrise’s earlier head scissor had only been a fleeting one, and she decided she shouldn’t have wasted such a valuable hold, so she had another go. Pulling Craig by the hair (naturally) onto all-fours, she stretched out with her thighs squeezing either side of his neck. Dragging him up with her hands, while pushing down by sitting on his shoulders, this particular style of head scissor also had an echo of the camel clutch to it, with his same pressure points suffering as before.

But Sunrise wasn’t the person to be content with the same position for long. Keeping the scissor, she worked Craig over so that he was on his knees, with his face almost touching the mat, while his ugly backside pointed upwards. “Yuk!” said the spectators in the wings. She pulled him over sideways, too. All the time she drove bolts of pain into his ribs, spine, stomach and hips, she would up the ante of her thigh clamp on his neck.

She whisked her prey over onto his back. Stretching as she did before, and crossing her feet behind Craig’s head, she placed her hands on the mat either side of his right leg and pushed. She could have been doing a workout, without the imprisoned man in her thighs. As it was, she had her opponent where she wanted him. He struggled to breathe, and wasted precious energy in futile attempts to free himself.

Grabbing his hair with her right hand, and his right wrist with her other, Sunrise knelt either side of his face so she could watch his discomfort. She steadily lowered herself onto his face – then unexpectedly flipped him with her thighs onto all fours. Lying on her back, she hooked her feet together behind his neck.

But she was working her way through moves, holds and variations of scissor so rapidly that every time she changed position, she gave him a bit of time to recover. With his hands on her thighs, he did manage to free himself (sort of), before she had properly enforced this latest hold. He seized both her wrists and made to pin her. But she arched her back in resistance. Ominously for Craig, she hooked her left leg round his left leg before he could establish the pin.

She gave it a mighty heave; he yelled in pain, spun round to get up – and got a kick to the face. Sunshine’s right boot hit him hard on his jaw and ear, and he went crashing down again.

They both got up, eyeing each other warily. Craig looked bitter and resentful but, admittedly, dangerous. Sunrise looked confident and wore a slight smile, looking equally dangerous, but in a quieter, Oriental way. In an echo of the start of the fight, she tried an experimental kick, which he edged out of the way with his arm. He went for a massive high kick, but she cooly took hold of his heel.

This phoney war ended when she kicked him, but not quite as she intended. He partially evaded a super kick, and she came away with a point – but that was all – from a glancing blow to his head and protective arm. He even warded off another super kick from her other, left foot.

Sunrise now ducked under one of Craig’s kicks. It all seemed strangely formal – until she used her crouching position to grab his balls. It quite put him off the punch he was throwing. She squeezed intently while he howled.

“Oh dear!” she mocked, as he groaned, with both hands belatedly covering his balls. “Did the little Asian girl hurt his balls, then?”

Furious, he threw a left cross, but she sidestepped it, smiling infuriatingly. When he punched with his right, she leant back on her left foot and sent her right one flying into his balls. It was too much for him, and he collapsed onto the mat, once more holding his battered balls.

It’s fair to say that Sunrise was a bit of a bitch, enjoying his pain and making fun of it, then kicking him very hard on the chin when he was halfway up. Craig fell back, supporting himself on his right hand, and she kicked him again, her right boot swinging into his nose. Some of the club members in the wings had to look away. Fighters themselves, they had seldom, if ever, seen brutality quite like that.

When unruly children and teenagers are at a swimming pool, they like to “bomb” people. Well, this is what Sunrise now did to Craig, landing (surprise, surprise) with her legs either side of his face and her knees on the mat. Yes, it was a head scissor; but the spectators, from their imperfect viewpoints, fancied it was more of a face-sit. Then Sunrise stretched out again, clamping those powerful thighs shut on his neck.

“He knows he’s lost,” whispered a very attractive young woman to the man next to her, as she pointed to Craig’s erection.

“How do know that?” her neighbour asked.

“I beat up a man once,” she answered, licking her lips at the memory.

Sunrise knew it too. She turned over, so they were in the good old “69” position, and went to work on his cock, while he did what was expected of him with his mouth and tongue. Her smile grew broader as she felt him twitch in her hand. Propping herself on her right arm, she switched to overhand on his cock, while keeping him in what was now a token scissor.

“What’s my name?” she asked her distracted, panting, former opponent, while her hand performed paradise strokes.

“Agh, agh, SUNRISE!” he shouted as he ejaculated copiously.

“Just remember it,” she told him while she posed over him, with one boot on his spent cock.