Mixed fighting freestyle, 420 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), completely CFNM, bloody action.

We’ve all known those moments when a cheerful conversation in a group suddenly turns silent and awkward. So it was with the students relaxing with drinks after studying. Their friend, Jane had just arrived after her gym routine. Her boyfriend, Mark, got her a drink and sat down with them.

“So how was the gym session, Jane?” one of their number asked.

“Great!” she answered. “Actually” – she looked a little nervously at Mark – “I’ve taken up MMA.”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“You heard!” the idiot of the group answered, unaware of the general unease Mark’s tone had caused.

“Yes,” Jane hurriedly continued. “I meant to tell you, but we’ve both been so busy it slipped my mind.

“Better watch it, Mark!” the idiot continued, “it’ll mixed MMA next!”

“Actually,” Jane levelled her glance at her boyfriend, “that’s what I’ve been doing. It’s more exciting, and I thought you might like to have a go,” she concluded, hopefully.

“I’m told it can be quite a turn-on,” another one of the group mused.

“Especially when it’s CFNM,” added one of the girls.

“What’s that?” the idiot asked.

“Clothed female, naked male, she explained.

“Isn’t it ever the other way round, to make it fair?” Idiot asked.

“Of course not! Who said anything about fairness?”

“What about equality of the sexes?” Mark demanded.

“It’s a load of rubbish!” Jane rebuked him. “Women will always be superior.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he snapped back. “It all fits now. You’ve had an arrogance these last few weeks, and the MMA stuff explains it. I’ll show you you’re not superior,” he went on, standing up. “Come on,” he told her, nodding his head towards the gym.

“CFNM?” she asked, slyly.

“All right! I can beat you whether I have clothes on or not.”

Off they went to the gym, leaving their friends betting on which one would come back. They got changed (in Jane’s case, anyway) and Mark had to admit to himself that she looked tough. He had never seen her in her gym outfit before, and when she appeared in her black leotard with a white border, complete with black boots and MMA gloves, he felt a twinge of anxiety, standing there all vulnerable and naked. The “Girl Power” written on the front was self-evident. He had seen her in shorts or a skirt before of course, and her legs had always looked strong enough; now they looked capable of serious damage.

Mark’s unease wasn’t exactly calmed when she fired a high kick against a head-height dummy’s ear. Then she lifted the weights. Bloody hell!

“Still keen on doing this?” she asked him, almost absent-mindedly raising a dumbbell and looking at him curiously, though still gently challenging.

“Of course!” he replied, with rather more bravado than conviction.

“Let’s go then.”

Once in the ring, Jane stroked Mark’s chin thoughtfully, sensing he had no idea how to start. Well, she knew of several ways, and this time she chose to slap his face. His head recoiled with the stinging blow, but she soon took his mind off it with a hefty punch into his chest. But the burning sensation in it was dwarfed by a subsequent, left, punch into his stomach. It landed like a bulldozer, and he crumpled around her fist.

Jane gripped his neck with both hands and thrust her right knee into his chest. This reinforced the pain he already felt there from her recent punch, and he yelled in pain. She ignored him, slamming her other knee into his eye. A right hook then sent him spinning. He lost control, and tumbled down onto the mat, only to be met with a smart, shiny black boot in his face.

Jane wasn’t a very subtle fighter. There was no probing of defences or feints; it was straight in, all-out attack from the start. And how it worked! She kicked Mark in the stomach, intent on total dominance. Then she got him on the chin when he tried to get up, drawing blood.

He did get to a sitting position, so she hooked her legs over his shoulders, and punched him in the face from behind and above, smiling at her supremacy. She took her left leg off his shoulder, to get a better angle and aim, and her right fist sailed into his ear. Then she sent him sprawling with her left fist.

Mark lay in the foetal position, trying to protect his face with his arms. Was Jane mad, he wondered? She was certainly possessed by a fighting demon he never knew she had. His defence was useless, because she just helped herself to the rest of his head. He even removed his arms, hoping to be randomly lucky by placing them any old how. Meanwhile her punches cascaded into his head and face.

Mark sank onto his back in despair, and she followed him down. Lying across him, Jane grabbed his right leg and trapped his left leg in the crook of her left leg.

“My right hand’s free, Mark,” she began, teasing him unpleasantly. “Whatever shall I do with it? I know!”

He let out a string of expletives as she gripped and twisted his balls.

“You’re a sadist!” he blurted out, while her hand kneaded away.

“No, but I’ll do anything to win,” she answered. “On the other hand, I suppose this is rather good fun,” she conceded.

Mark’s right hand rested on her right buttock. Normally this would have made him cheerful indeed; now he was completely unaware of it. One professional, black MMA glove, with “Fighter” written superfluously on it, and elegant long fingers with polished red nails, undertook their destructive work in his groin.

Jane decided it was time to show him her wrestling skills. Sandwiching his neck in her powerful thighs, she lay parallel to him, but in the opposite direction. Mark’s right arm was wedged against the mat, and just in case he got any ideas for his other arm, she seized and locked it in her strong left hand. This particular style of head scissor enabled her to continue her assault on his balls with her right hand. Alongside the agony he felt in his balls, he now struggled to breathe.

Using the scissor, she raised him to his knees, but without letting go of his balls. She could manipulate him as she chose, both with her thighs and her hand. She moved him across her, almost for amusement, while she continued her diabolical work on his balls, all the while squeezing his neck remorselessly with her thighs. The sounds of anguish and agony coming from Mark would make a sensitive person (especially, in this case, a man) flinch, and hope to be able to turn the volume off.

All the time, Jane wore an amused smile – perhaps Mark was right, and she was a sadist. Twisting his left arm for good measure seemed to enhance her enjoyment of his ordeal.

Occasionally she would change position slightly, as in clinging limpet-like to his back, still facing the opposite way. But all the time she kept up the twin tortures on his balls and his neck. Mark vainly tried to free his neck by prizing her legs apart, but his right hand had very little strength as it was trapped with him lying over it, and his left was feeble in comparison to Jane’s legs. Moreover he was distracted by the hideous work of by now both her hands on his balls.

Shifting to yet another variation of the scissor/ball twist, Jane now lay alongside him, and watched, delighted, at what her left hand was doing. (At this time, she held his right wrist in her right hand.) Even with the intense pain she was inflicting, the feel of her hand on his balls was starting to arouse him.

Taking inspiration from it, Jane played a very mean game. She lowered her face towards it, pretending to give Mark his favourite treat, but without actually doing it. Poor Mark could feel her breath on his cock, with her mouth hovering just above it. It was enough to make a grown man sob!

At last she released him from the scissor, and slid underneath him, hauling him onto his hands and knees. But still she groped harshly away with her hand. His head and neck weren’t that much better off anyway, wedged as they were between her right arm and her ribs. It was a headlock in all but name.

She swapped it for a similar unorthodox headlock, this time in the crook of her right leg, bending her knee around his neck so it couldn’t go anywhere. All the time she kept up her remorseless punishment of Mark’s manhood. It says much for him that he didn’t pass out or throw up.

In yet another variation, Jane now lay across him on his back, trapping his left hand under her sex, while his right arm was useless for any sort of counterattack in that position. Once again, she bullied him by squeezing hard on those balls, this time from behind. Occasionally she would ease off, giving him hope that at last she was going to let go, only to resume the torture. She regularly changed positions, too, also giving him hope that his ordeal would end, a hope which turned out to be forlorn.

So now she lay alongside him, in the opposite direction, with her left leg hooked over him in a partial body scissor. With both of them on their sides, she was easily able to pile the agony on his balls. At the same time, her formidable leg felt as if it were crushing his chest and ribs.

Jane decided that it was time for the coup de grace. She surprised Mark (certainly not for the first time that evening) by lifting him up, but still with one inevitable hand working over his balls. It’s difficult to say how long she held him there, helpless and humiliated, while she walked around the ring, as if she were displaying him to a crowd of several thousand. His girlfriend was able to lift him with ease, and torment him for as long as she chose. She knew he would hate being lifted up by her, which made it all the more enjoyable.

She raised him almost to shoulder height, with her right hand clasping his left thigh while her left hand … But at least she was doing something a bit different. She took him to a corner and dangled his legs over the ropes so that he was upside down. At last she left off wounding his balls, and turned her attention to his cock.

Ah, that old, familiar movement! The woman’s hand, moving up and down, works every time! Jane sniggered as his cock sprang to life in her hand. When she sensed he was about to cum, she pointed his cock at his face. The worst of it for Mark was that he cried out in orgasm, so that some of his own semen went into his mouth. The rest of it made a revolting mess all over his face.

He collapsed onto his back, and Jane stood over him to celebrate her victory. But she didn’t stay long before walking away. Her friends outside had talked about going to a night club later, and she didn’t want to miss that. She doubted Mark would either want or be able to go; not that she worried about that.

For his part, he watched her take a couple of paces away from him, and was seized with fury. How dare she disgrace him the way she had! With a roar, he charged after her. It was the roar that was his undoing though, because he gave her enough warning to react. Mark found himself flipped into the air, with Jane’s hand on his disgusting face, steering him back down to his feet. Then she kicked him, broadside on, in the stomach.

Mark’s earlier trepidation at the sight of her legs was justified. They were just as strong as they looked, and her kick had him gasping. Still furious though, he flashed a body punch at her, which she evaded. She answered with a neat little left jab on his cheek. It wasn’t a full power punch, but it was just enough to give him an unpleasant sting, with the promise of more – and worse – to come. He didn’t have long to wait.

Undeterred, he struck at her stomach, but she pulled herself back out of harm’s way. That was when she showed him what she could do. She got him square on the chin, with the finest left cross you could ever hope to see. His head recoiled violently, seeming to jar his whole body. Her ferocious punch had him in disarray, so she was able to take her time to aim at her next target – his balls, with her right boot. They were sensitive enough after her earlier onslaught, not to mention ejaculating, so the pain was intense.

Again Mark’s head went back, and he groaned with this renewed pain in his groin. This was just too cruel, and he wished he had let her leave the ring now. Her boot savaged his tender balls.

But once started, Jane wasn’t one to pause, let alone stop. She left kicked him in the chest, as he clutched his injured balls, and that burning sensation he had experienced at the start of the fight returned. He cursed himself for allowing his pride and anger to get the better of him earlier, as she was getting the better of him now.

She brought her knee up into his face, while he was still holding his balls (as if it would do them any good now). Blood flowed freely abound his mouth and nose, mixing obscenely with the semen already there.

Intent of finishing the fight (because she didn’t want them to go without her to the night club), Jane power kicked him in the face, and the blood spurted out hideously. Then she super kicked with the other, right, foot. As with everything else she had done – orthodox or not – it was spot on. Facing away from him, her reverse kick struck exactly where she intended: the mouth, causing yet more bleeding, and indeed splashing some of the semen off his face.

The kick sent Mark down, onto his front. Jane followed him, banging her backside down hard on his shoulders. She pulled his head up between her thighs by his hair. Balancing with her feet against the mat, and pulling his head up while pushing his shoulders down with her bottom, the novel hold was a cross between a camel clutch and a head scissor. Certainly, his breathing was severely restricted by her thighs constricting his neck, while her pulling one way and pushing the other seemed to set fire to his neck, shoulders, ribs and stomach.

But it couldn’t last. Mark was done in, and passed out. Jane allowed him to flop down on the mat, while she lingered over the head scissor just a few moments longer, as if she couldn’t bear to relinquish it. Then she stood up and for the second time celebrated her victory. She knew there would be no third time.