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Following Kjersti’s and Karsten’s victory over Monika and Torsten (Gallery 738), the press began to discuss the possibility of the whole Norwegian family competing in the family league, against the current champions, the Davenport family of the US. Leon, the father, Margie, the mother, and the twin daughters, Melody and Harmony, had all proved themselves in the ring, both individually and as a team. On the Nowegian side, Kristin, the daughter, was a well-known wrestler in her own right, and it was believed Arild, Kjersti’s son, had competed as well.
But Kjersti wasn’t altogether happy with this speculation by the press. Karsten had fought poorly against Monika, despite the win, and she had her doubts about Arild as well. But once the press starts a bandwagon rolling, it can be very difficult to stop it. And journalists are devious people – it’s their job to be. It was a case of one drink too many (Karsten on this occasion), an injudicious remark was interpreted as a challenge, and hey presto! The Davenports accepted the “challenge”, and a date was set for the match.
Kjersti, the undisputed Norwegian captain, put herself on first, against Leon. She chose the fetching blue leotards, complete with the Norwegian flag, for herself and Kristin, that looked so fine on them when they fought Torsten and Oliver for the second time (Gallery 732). She faced Leon, almost dazzling in Stars and Stripes leggings. This had the American “home” supporters cheering wildly.
He tried to set the pace and jabbed with his right, but Kjersti leant out of the way of it. “Early days,” he thought, and swept a left hook at her; it “whooshed” harmlessly past her as she skilfully folded her body inwards at the front and outwards at the back. Its momentum carried him with it, dangerously exposing his back and neck. Kjersti accepted the gift and clubbed him hard with double fists on his neck.
Leon dropped to his knees with the blow, and the throbbing, dull pain. Kjersti was instantly on him. Her thighs pincered his middle in a scissor, and she locked her arms around his head. The hold brought him down, and she grabbed his head in her left hand, and ominously clenched her right fist.
For a few seconds, Leon wasn’t sure what her next move was going to be. Then her fist landed. It caught him on the back of the head, and his chin hit the canvas with the force of the blow. Then her left fist struck the same spot, and the canvas once again greeted his chin.
The crowd was largely silent, except for a Norwegian contingent who cheered Kjersti on as she tumbled Leon round and onto his back. She had him by the throat, and she brought her left boot up, threatening his groin, just to show him what she was capable of doing. But it was her hands clasping his throat that were his greatest peril, almost choking him out of the match already.
At last she relented, to the great relief of the crowd. But then there were protests as she whipped off his leggings. Kjersti held both his knees, and menaced his naked cock with her right knee, rubbing it so that the sensation hovered around the boundary of pleasure and pain. Leon didn’t dare move, because he instinctively knew her knee would punish him severely if he did. Switching her hold to his wrists, she banged her left knee into his groin, hard this time. This was proper ball-busting, not teasing, and Leon shouted in pain.
Kjersti brought her strong, reliable fists back into play now. Sitting on his cock, deliberately teasing and distracting him with her buttocks, she ploughed her left fist into his jaw. Then her right fist hammered into his cheek. She held him by the throat with her left hand, and drew her right fist back. Leon braced himself for the impact…but it never came. Or at least not in the way he expected. She seized him around his middle, and he was whisked round, up, and over, landing on his head and shoulders in a German suplex.
Leon’s upper body jarred violently with the impact, stunning him, but Kjersti gave him no respite. The American found himself upside down, his neck sandwiched between her thighs and his left arm locked in place against her right breast, in a triangle choke. He was flailing hopelessly, uselessly about while the woman, every inch a professional fighter, heaved him and manipulated him as she chose.
She converted the triangle choke into a rack contraption: still with a hold of his arm, she had his neck and shoulders hooked in her right leg, and his left leg secured in her left leg. She held him on ungainly display for the glum home audience, in a hold that was more humiliating than it was painful.
For the second time in about two minutes, he landed painfully on the mat, for Kjersti to haul him into an armbar. It was his right arm now that she had locked in her strong wrists, between her thighs, while her left leg pinned him to the mat by his neck and shoulders. She stretched the tendons, nerves and muscles in his arm and neck. Darts of pain coursed across his upper body. He yelped, adding to the gloom of the home audience.
But their interest revived as Kjersti now lay across Leon, pinning him by his arms, neck and shoulders. His right arm was locked in her arms, wedged tightly against her breasts, and his left arm was fastened to the mat underneath her hips. People in the crowd were nudging each other, pointing at his huge erection. Was it the dreaded “defeat boner”, or was it this voluptuous woman trapping him under her most intimate parts? (Or both?)
“I always manage it!” Kjersti murmured happily, reaching down and grabbing his balls, enhancing the crowd’s sudden enthusiasm, as she once again wove around the boundary of pleasure and pain.
She sat on his middle, keeping a hold of his balls in her left hand, and wickedly bouncing his cock against her left buttock. If she carried on like that, there was one obvious way this would end, and the crowd stared, fascinated. But she was experienced. Sensing Leon was about to cum, she tightened her grip on his balls, and the pain drove back the impending climax.
She sat beside him, and held him just by the balls. She squeezed, staring into his eyes. He yelped in falsetto with the agony. Ever the wrestler though, she now pulled him up by his legs, before pushing them back and behind him. She sat on them, so that only his head and shoulders were on the mat, and the rest of his body was bent up and backwards. Then she applied her hands to his balls again, probing mercilessly.
She let him drop to the mat, and rolled him onto his front. She sat on his middle and hauled his legs backwards, locking them in the crook of her left arm in sort of sideways-on Boston crab, which kept her right hand free. The intention was obvious, and – sure enough – it was mangling his balls again. But she was so savage that it spurred Leon, against the odds, to use the freedom of his arms to push himself suddenly up, forcing her off him. He spun round and caught her, taken by surprise, to scoop her off the mat. It was a precarious position for both of them: he was on one knee, and he held her, face down; but her right hand still clutched his balls. All she had to do was …
He collapsed, howling, and Kjersti made sure there was no chance of him doing any more press ups by locking his right arm between her thighs. Meanwhile she continued her eye-watering punishment of his balls. No man could withstand that, and the arena echoed to Leon’s shout of submission.
He cradled his wounded balls, but Kjersti made him remove his hands and lie on his back, for the victory pose that was her right. She stood with her left boot on his penis, and the ejaculation that she had only just forestalled earlier, gushed forth.
With the American team one-nil down, the home crowd cheered when their next competitor was announced. Margie was a favourite among them even for domestic matches, so when she was representing the country, their support was feverish. As usual whenever she appeared, they sang, “Margie, I’m always thinking of you, Margie…” from the old song.
This had Kjersti worried. Karsten, facing her, was sensitive about crowd support, and she noted how ill-at-ease he looked entering the ring. He looked worse when Margie pointed at his groin, and indicated that he was going to get the same treatment as Leon at the hands (literally) of Kjersti.
She meant it, and swooped on him, grabbing his balls in her right hand through his leggings, and forcing him back into a corner. She commanded him to take the leggings off (“Don’t just do as she says, you fool,” thought Kjersti) and he stood naked and looking forlorn in the corner, with his hands over his manhood. Magie seized his left hand and wrist, and he grabbed the rope to keep away from her. The crowd started to boo, which worsened his psychological disadvantage.
But Margie was strong, and she hauled him into the centre of the ring, using the momentum to swing him over her left shoulder and control his landing onto the mat. She had him on his hands and knees, and pinned him with her left leg on his left hand, and his right arm locked in her linked arms. Then she allowed him to drop fully onto the mat. Swinging them both onto their sides, she banged her hip into his stomach, while keeping a hold of his right arm, before slipping speedily behind him, and locking him in an anaconda.
Strong, workmanlike thighs gripped his right leg, and the relentless clutch of her arms around his neck made him choke. The crowd happily sat back as their heroine restored their pride after the disgrace of the previous match. Cheers erupted as Margie thrust Karsten down on his front, sat on the small of his back, and wrenched him up by his chin, in the good old camel clutch. Her thighs dug into his armpits, while she steadily upped the pressure on his spine, neck, ribs and stomach.
Presently she abandoned the chin wrench, her arms snaked over his head and face, catching his left arm in the process, and she slipped behind him, facing away. Then the snake became a constrictor, as she locked her left arm around his neck and throat, while twisting his trapped left arm. He would have cried out in pain, but no sound was possible as she steadily reinforced the choke.
The only movement Karsten was capable of was shaking, and when he started doing this, Margie realised that she had broken his resistance. She decided to quicken the pace. She shoved him onto his front, wrapped his legs over each other, then held them in place with her left leg. Facing upwards, away from him, she seized his chin in her linked hands again, and pulled upwards, at the same time pushing upwards with her legs, in a bridge. This doubled down on the pains he still suffered from the camel clutch.
Karsten’s shaking intensified. It told him that she had fatally weakened him. Looking on, Kjersti agreed. She shook her head as the versatile woman now racked him over her legs in a bow and arrow. Lying on her back, Margie gripped his neck in her left hand, and his right leg in her right hand, with his left leg twisted and trapped underneath his right leg. Then she pushed up with her legs, bending his back the “wrong” way.
Margie was unrelenting. The torment of his whole body intensified when she put him in a Boston crab. Once again, she had him at a perverse angle, as she squatted with his legs tucked under her arms, and his body bent grotesquely inside her legs. All she had to do was increase the pushing of her legs and the pulling of her arms. Even some of her fans began to feel sorry for him.
“What happened there?” a man in the front row asked his wife.
“Backdrop. She had him up and over, banging him down on his back and shoulders so quickly, that you missed it,” she answered, almost purring with pride.
Scarcely had the jarring stopped in Karsten’s back and shoulders, than Margie had him on his front. Leaning into him from the side, and pushing down on the small of his back, she locked his left arm in her thighs, and heaved his head up in a cross face. Its effect was that of the camel clutch all over again, and before he had fully recovered from it.
She literally stretched the torment to include his legs with her next hold: a dragon lock. She had him on his knees and squatted over his back. Gripping his right wrist in her right hand, she locked his head in her right arm. She also locked his left arm in a hook of her left arm, then all she had to do was push with her legs and pull with her arms. His body creaked and strained as she bent it further and further away from any natural position. It looked grotesque and surreal in its misshapen state.
Working through the textbook (forgetting the fact that she’d pulled his leggings off him, that is) she stood him up and put him in a full Nelson. To compound his humiliation, she paraded him around the ring like this to the cheers and laughter of her fans, and the dismay of his dwindling scattering of them. With her arms under his armpits, and linked at his neck, if she took a step forward, he had to.
In fact, whatever she chose to do, he seemed to have no choice but to follow and endure. Thus, from the full Nelson, she had him off his feet and travelling backwards, supported by her body, until he dipped, then crashed down on the mat once more on his back and shoulders. The perfectly executed German suplex drew contented sighs from the audience, and saw the American team overtake the Norwegian in points. The damage caused by the backdrop was still raw, and now she had just banged him down on the same injuries.
This time forgetting the textbook, she inflicted a few homemade indignities on him while he was still half-senseless from the most recent blow, and on the mat. She banged her knee into his stomach and thumped his head with her elbow, before dragging him back onto his feet. Shouts and cheers went up because this revealed his massive “defeat boner”.
Standing behind him, Margie put him in a headlock-choke, linking both her arms over his throat. Then she wrapped his arms over each other, locking them, pulled them above his head, and drove her knee into the small of his back.
Returning to the headlock-choke, she hooked her left leg around his left leg, and began running her heel up the inside of his thigh, teasingly. The crowd egged her on, but she was teasing them as much as her beaten opponent. Some were cupping their hands and shouting at her to bring it to his balls. At last she relented, and Karsten came instantly. The official points tally saw the Americans in the lead by 20; but that was to miss the point, and Margie rightly celebrated her splendid win, while the stadium echoed with:
“Margie, I’m always thinking of you, Margie…”
The next fight was the tag team match comprising Kristin and Arild for Norway, and Melody and Harmony for the US, and it was agreed that Kristin would face Melody first off.
The crowd settled back, expecting a good contest as Kristin and Melody exchanged words. They couldn’t hear what was said, but the body language shouted hostility and boiling tension. Melody got in a glancing blow with her elbow, which Kristin partially deflected by moving forward with it. Then she got in a better one under Kristin’s chin, before the two girls grappled savagely along the ropes.
The grappling moved to and fro, and it was in the centre of the ring that they both dropped to their knees, still fighting desperately to secure an elusive advantage. Then they broke and got to their feet, snarling and cursing at one another. Kristin kicked, Melody deflected; Melody kicked, Kristin parried. Then Melody got in with a palm strike, which caught Kristin nastily on the chin; but Kristin replied with an uppercut that did worse to Melody’s chin.
Melody got in a blistering punch to the ribcage, but Kristin fought back with a left cross. It was more of a street brawl than a wrestling match, but the crowd loved it as the punches flashed and struck home. Melody knocked Kristin down with a diving left cross, launched from a jump; but Kristin brought her down with her, securing her heels over her middle and head locking her.
The head lock became more of a choke, and Kristin cemented her advantage by locking Melody’s left arm with her left arm. She had Melody in real trouble now, with her neck trapped in Kristin’s deceptively strong right arm, and her left arm paralysed for the moment. From this hold, it was simple enough to place Melody in a black widow, and Kristin opted to take the opportunity. The American girl lay above her, facing upwards, trapped and suffering, as the Norwegian turned up the heat (and her country overtook the US on points again).
Even some of the home crowd applauded Kristin’s next improvised hold – a double triangle choke, with Melody’s neck and left arm imprisoned in her thighs, while she locked and twisted her right arm, which she held “safe” by the wrist. When Kristin let go it was useless to Melody initially; though her strength rapidly returned when the Norwegian tried to get her into a schoolgirl pin, which she successfully thwarted.
But Melody was fighting defencively now, in reaction to Kristin’s initiatives. Unable to pin her, Kristin held her head on the mat with her boot on her chin instead. Then she stood, with her right boot on her throat and her left on her sex. It was the end for Melody, and she lay limp, accepting defeat, while Kristin celebrated Norway’s second win.
The tag was made, and Harmony entered the ring along with Arild. The young man walked towards the centre of the ring for the formal start of his match. Melody, bitter over her defeat, was still at the ropes, having tagged Harmony. As Arild walked away from her, she saw an opportunity, and she kicked him viciously in the balls from behind. He dropped to the mat in agony, and Kristin rushed to avenge him.
She was onto Melody instantly; but Harmony grabbed her from behind. Harmony had noted how her father and Karsten had suffered from the indignity of being naked, so she seized Kristin’s leotard and ripped it. Then Melody had a go from the front, and Kristin stood there in the threads of a once lovely leotard. They pushed her onto her hands and knees, partially through the ropes, and she was forced to retire, wrapping her arms around herself for modesty.
This left the two American girls in the ring, giggling at Arild, who still lay in the foetal position after Melody’s kick. They went and stood over him, laughing and mocking, before each took an arm and raised him to his feet.
“Aw, did my twin sister kick you then?” Harmony asked wickedly. “Where does it hurt, just here?” she continued, probing the front of his leggings.
“It wasn’t all that much of a kick,” Melody lied, locking his arms behind him.
“All the same, I think we’d better check that he’s ok down there, don’t you?” Harmony suggested, placing her hands on his leggings. “Say, don’t this material tear easy!”
Poor Arild! He’d had no previous experience of wrestling women, and he had gasped and blushed when Kjersti removed Leon’s shorts; then when Margie had done the same to Karsten, he realised with horror that he was next. And now the two twins were hauling him around, naked. They both held his arms again, and Harmony banged her fist down on his left arm at the shoulder joint. He sank down to one knee, and Melody proceeded to twist and bend his wrist.
They got him to his feet again, and Melody held him from behind, while Harmony faced and tormented him with her hand on his face. But it wasn’t her hand he was worried about. Here it came, too, for the moment teasing and pleasant, as she rubbed her left thigh against his manhood. But something in her look told him to be worried … and she banged her knee up into his balls. He felt sick. Now she slammed her right knee into them, as Melody pushed him hard into the knee from behind.
As Melody twisted his right arm behind his back, Harmony kicked him in the same place. She seized his wrists, laughing, and now Melody kicked him there again from behind, and US points rattled past the Norwegian ones again. Harmony let go of his wrists, and punched him in the eye while Melody’s boot was still on his balls. Then she rammed her left knee into his balls, while pumping her elbow down hard on his neck.
The two young women were merciless, and even some US fans could no longer look (especially the men). They took turns to assault his balls, all the while manipulating his limbs to hold him just where they wanted him. Sometimes one would hold him for the other; sometimes one could manage both, so the other would join in the assault from another angle. Most of the audience had forgotten whether it was Melody or Harmony who had just kicked him, they swapped roles so fast.
Now one coffee-coloured devil kicked his balls from behind, and the other got his chin. Then it was a return to holding him from behind for her curvaceous sadist of a sister to kick his balls.
The commentary confirmed that it was in fact Melody behind him who had just forced him into a hammer lock. He was down on both knees, while she secured him in a headlock, with his right arm twisted over his head, and held by his wrist in her right hand. Meanwhile, what did the twin sister do? You needn’t ask!
Next it was a Boston crab that he was held in, this time for Harmony’s knee to aim at his balls. They allowed him to collapse onto his back, though Melody still held him in a head scissor, while Harmony stood over him, with her right boot on his balls. Then Melody eschewed the scissor and simply sat on his face, engulfing it for a little lady pleasuring. Harmony rubbed her boot up and down his cock and balls, and miraculously - after all the punishment he had received - he came, and the two girls celebrated their devastating win.
So the Americans were still the family team champions, though there had been times when the Norwegians had seriously challenged this.
“Hmm, they’ve won by 50 points,” Kjersti said to Kristin at the end of the match. “It’s funny, but I thought we should have been given 50 points as a bonus to start with.”
“Why?” Kristin asked, surprised.
“They only had one man in their team, and we had two. We were carrying a handicap.”