Cheyenne Jewel steps onto the mat as the #4 seed. She’s an all-natural brunette hard-body with a big ass and real muscle. Across from her waits Mistress Kara, the #1 seed, the woman who’s already put a fist into every girl this season. No rookie luck here—just two veterans who know each other’s bodies too well. They lock hands. The arm-wrestling turns into a slow drag across the mats. No one gives an inch. When the ref finally calls them to the center, the score is still zero. They circle, bump, test. Each knows the second one slips she’ll get two fingers shoved deep and that will be the end of any hope. The half ends the same way it started—tied, sweat on their skin, nothing on the board. Kara breaks first. She shoots, misses, and Cheyenne catches her in a scramble that keeps the fingers out. The second round stays low-scoring, mean, technical. They trade control but never let the other settle. When the buzzer sounds the ref raises Cheyenne’s hand. She doesn’t celebrate. She yanks Kara to the center, slaps her across the face, then clamps a palm over her mouth. Kara tries to twist free. Cheyenne swings a leg over, clamps a head-scissor, and starts punching the champion’s tight belly. Every time Kara’s hips buck for an orgasm Cheyenne squeezes harder and tells her no. Not yet. When she finally lets Kara come it’s violent. Then she forces another, and another, until Kara’s legs shake and her voice cracks. The moment the big woman goes limp Cheyenne folds her into a choke, a Boston crab, a baby swing, a camel clutch—each one earns a quick tap. Kara’s body is too spent to fight back. Cheyenne straps on, pushes in, fucks her until Kara comes again on the mat. Only after that does Cheyenne peel the harness off, straddle the loser’s face, and grind until her own cum runs down Kara’s chin. She stands, lifts the exhausted champion over her shoulder, and walks off the mats. “Every night until you beat me again,” she says. “Count on it.”
Cheyenne Jewel steps onto the mat as the #4 seed. She’s an all-natural brunette hard-body with a big ass and real muscle. Across from her waits Mistress Kara, the #1 seed, the woman who’s already put a fist into every girl this season. No rookie luck here—just two veterans who know each other’s bodies too well. They lock hands. The arm-wrestling turns into a slow drag across the mats. No one gives an inch. When the ref finally calls them to the center, the score is still zero. They circle, bump, test. Each knows the second one slips she’ll get two fingers shoved deep and that will be the end of any hope. The half ends the same way it started—tied, sweat on their skin, nothing on the board. Kara breaks first. She shoots, misses, and Cheyenne catches her in a scramble that keeps the fingers out. The second round stays low-scoring, mean, technical. They trade control but never let the other settle. When the buzzer sounds the ref raises Cheyenne’s hand. She doesn’t celebrate. She yanks Kara to the center, slaps her across the face, then clamps a palm over her mouth. Kara tries to twist free. Cheyenne swings a leg over, clamps a head-scissor, and starts punching the champion’s tight belly. Every time Kara’s hips buck for an orgasm Cheyenne squeezes harder and tells her no. Not yet. When she finally lets Kara come it’s violent. Then she forces another, and another, until Kara’s legs shake and her voice cracks. The moment the big woman goes limp Cheyenne folds her into a choke, a Boston crab, a baby swing, a camel clutch—each one earns a quick tap. Kara’s body is too spent to fight back. Cheyenne straps on, pushes in, fucks her until Kara comes again on the mat. Only after that does Cheyenne peel the harness off, straddle the loser’s face, and grind until her own cum runs down Kara’s chin. She stands, lifts the exhausted champion over her shoulder, and walks off the mats. “Every night until you beat me again,” she says. “Count on it.”
