Erin Lee vs. MishRocks – Deleted!

Erin Lee vs. MishRocks on FCF

Erin Lee

I remember the scene vividly.  My taut asscheeks had just the right amount of pliability; as I pressed down, they mold over her face, assuming its shape, cutting off her air as she squirms and writhes beneath me…. One of my favorite ways to end a cyber fight!  I had written that particular ending many, many times.

   I had been a member of the on-line catfight group,, for a few years, and in general, enjoyed the cyber skirmishes and e-trash talk that was pretty much its purpose.  I won and I lost, winning more than losing, and found it to be a nice escape—-a sexy, exhilarating, but somewhat weird hobby.

But a few months ago, it began to lose its allure.  I was finding myself fighting the same opponents, and new profiles that kept popping up on the site largely ignored me.  I was old news—-at the ripe old age of 22!  So, I did what I know many other members of had done.  I created a new profile.  Sure I kept my own, but with my new one, I went—-different.  For years, I cyber-fought as a sexy, 5’6”, 110-lb blonde British bombshell, which I was (if I do say so, lol).

But now, I wanted to be something—-someONE—-different.  Scanning instagram pics, I decided I would trade in the sexiness for cuteness.  The blond hair became brunette.  My new avatar would be shorter than me—-a little girl of 5’2, barely tipping the scales at 100 lbs.  Sparkly eyes, a quick wit, and the sweetest, but toughest little munchkin that had ever seen.  I found the perfect photos, and wrote an engaging profile narrative, and then, as my new profile came to life, I named her.  Michelle.  No.  Too formal.  Mich?  No, people would think it rhymed with Rich.  Mish?  Hmm, yes, I liked that.  But just Mish?  No, it needed some action, a little verve.  MishKicksYourAss!  No, too long, and, cute little Mish wouldn’t use language like that.  Mish…Rocks?  Yes!  MishRocks!

From the moment MishRocks debuted, she was a hit.  She (me!) was fortunate enough to have had some early fights with CFC legends, and win or lose, it didn’t matter—-her writing skills drew attention, and very quickly I found that everyone wanted a fight with me as Mish!  She became one of the most popular fighters on the site, and I found myself turning down more fights than I accepted.  The volume of requests was immense!  And as my MishRocks profile grew and became more popular, my own dwindled.  Even so-called friends on CFC who had had many matches with me in the past were now ignoring me.  And it hurt even more that those same friends would wait WEEKS for a chance to fight Mish.  If they only knew….

But it still hurt.  I know it’s silly, being jealous of, well, myself, but still, the more popular Mish became, and the more requests for her fight-logs to be posted, the more bitter I became.  After fighting for 3 months as MishRocks, I decided that Mish had done what she was intended to do—-re-ignite my interest in cyber-fighting and stir my creative juices.  Check, and check!  But as long as Mish was on CFC, I knew that I would be largely ignored, so one of us had to go.

I pulled up Mish’s profile, gazed at her cute pics for a few minutes, read some of the hundreds of comments that were posted on her pages, and then, went into settings, and brought up “Delete Profile.”  My forefinger hovered over the ENTER key as the cursor flashed, and then, kind of scrunching up my face, I pressed it, knowing full well that not only would Mish’s profile disappear, but so would her posted fights, stories, and comments.  “C’est le vie, little Mishy,” I whispered, actually feeling sad that Mish would be gone forever.  Waiting a moment, I then powered off the computer.

A few days later, I logged back on to  Checked my messages, and then scrolled down to see who was on line.  Mmmhmm, same old cast of characters.  Oooh, I SO want to fight her!  And of course, there’s….  My heart stopped.  There, buried in the list of names currently on line—-MishRocks.  What the…?  Did someone create a new profile and steal her name?  I clicked on the name, and the familiar page—-the page I created—-popped up.  Her cute pics, the same comments, with some new ones added, and the Beatles crooning Michelle in an endless loop.  No, this was MY page, well, HER page, the one I deleted!  Well, obviously I didn’t.  I quickly logged out as myself, and logged in as Mish, went to settings, and this time, held down the ENTER key to delete the profile once and for all.  “Now you’re really gone, you stubborn little bitch….” I laughed, and logged off.

Later that day, I found myself drawn back to  It’s really quite addicting, you know, and as I logged in, I got that sweet little pop-up box indicating I had some new messages.  Yay!  Opening that tab, there was one new one.  “Why did you delete me?  I hate you.”  it said simply.  My toes curled, and I swear I felt chills crawl up my spine.  Looking at the right column, it had been sent by MishRocks.  Hacked?  That had to be it!  I clicked on her name, and once again, the Beatles sang, and her page glowed on my monitor.  Another pop-up window—-someone had posted on MY page!  i closed Mish and went to my profile.  What the….the newest post on my page—-that smiling cutesy-pie face looking at me, with the message “Leave me ALONE.”  Quickly, i clicked back to her page, looking under her avatar, and saw the green box—-that meant she was on-line.  Like a mad woman, I then tabbed back to the home page, scrolled down to see who was on line, and there it was, MishRocks, in the middle of the rows of names.

A combination of anger and fear began to flow through me as I saw that name on the screen.  I must be screwing up the delete process.  I decided one more time that I would log back in as her and this time, obliterate all traces of MishRocks. DELETE.  I waited a moment, then logged back in as me, and checked to see who was on-line.  Scanning, scanning——no sign of Mish.  But I wasn’t done.  I did a Member Search—-nothing!  A deep breath and then a laugh.  Finally!  Glancing at the clock, I noticed how late it was.  Powered down, closed the laptop, and went to bed, wearing only a t-shirt and panties on this particularly muggy night.

As I lay on the bed—-it was too hot to get under the covers—- my eyelids quickly became heavy, and I felt that blanket of sleep start to cover my body—-the still, quiet night outside encouraging it, and with a little involuntary  twitch of my foot, I knew that deep sleep was mere moments away…

BANG!  BANG!  BANG!   My heart leapt into my throat, pounding, as  my eyes snapped open and I sat up straight.  2 AM on the clock.  BANG!!  BANG!!  It was the door!  Who? What??  Peering out the window, I saw no cars below, only pitch black.  Grabbing the small baseball bat I keep near the bed, I padded down the hall to the front door.  I glanced at the lock.  Shit!  My obsession with the computer tonight had distracted me and I hadn’t turned the deadbolt.  My hand moved to grab it to twist it, but the doorknob was already turning.  Hoisting the bat, I take a step away from the door as it begins to open…


I’m not sure how I ended up here—-barefoot, in torn panties and the remnants of a t-shirt.  I remember wearing this, being in this condition, at the end of my most recent match against Cara, in the pit, right after I climbed out, leaving her sexy but broken body on the pit floor below.  That feels like months ago, and I…I admit feeling a little disoriented, although the fatigue of the fight is long behind me.  But while I may not know how i got here, I know WHY I am.  I can feel the physical sensation of rage coursing through my veins, and my jaw sets and teeth grind each time that bitch Erin’s visage starts to solidify in my mind.  She wants to end me—-destroy me, like I’m——disposable. 

I pound on the door two more times, the power behind the punches into the door actually rattles the frame, and a moment later, I realize I may as well try the handle.  Sweet!  It turns, and I do so slowly, but then realize, I gave the slut enough time to prepare.  So instead, I push the door hard and fast—-maybe it hits her, maybe it doesn’t, and I come in low, to avoid a fist to the face if she’s so inclined


The doorknob starts to turn slowly, carefully like the person on the other side knows i am here…but surely not, if they did know they would never risk meeting me face to face…or would they? I raise the bat higher, ready to destroy whoever…or whatever comes through that door…and then suddenly the door flies open narrowly missing me with the handle…my mouth drops open and my hands lose their grip on the bat which falls to the floor because standing there with clenched fists and narrowed eyes is…Mish.

How is this even possible??…I stagger back, only the self survival instinct keeps me on my feet. You look like you were just in a fight…and it didn’t go too well for you, your clothes are shredded, nail marks adorn your body…but wait…no, this cannot be, you are just a figment of my imagination. I regain composure and walk towards you..stretching out my right hand to prod you in the ribs…knowing there will be nothing there…there can’t possibly be…can there?


My flourish of an entrance seems to surprise you.  I straighten up and we face each other, almost frozen.  This is really the first time I’ve seen you—-sure I knew your stats, saw the pics, but to see you in real life (IRL, as we call it), is, um, interesting.  I decide right away to use the wit you have embedded in me, and quip, after  eyeing you head to toe, “I can see why you created a much cuter alter-ego.” 

You still seem aghast, though, and having dropped a bat, thankfully, you slowly approach, your right hand tentatively approaching my rib cage.  My eyes narrow, wondering if that’s the hand, those were the fingers, that depressed the Enter key to try and destroy me.  The rage returns, pushing the taunting aside, and I lash out, grabbing your soft hand and pull you into me as I slam my left knee up and out, hoping to plow my kneecap into those exposed, tight abs.  


This cannot be happening..expecting my hand to find fresh air I am astonished when a very real hand closes around my wrist and drags me towards this…this apparition.

“What…who…HOW”…then a knee lifts and slams into my abs driving the air from my lungs through my slack jaw. I gasp and stagger back, still not comprehending quite how a creation..a figment of my imagination that I tried to delete on more than one occasion can come to life. But whatever and however it’s clear i have to fight for my life. I take deep breaths then fearing for my sanity I come at you…if the delete button won’t finish you..I will. I come in swinging wild lefts and rights at your head and your upper body…”you are a cute bitch and I taught you all you know…but not all I know!” I hiss  


I wind you, but only a bit—-those tight abs absorbing more hate-energy than I estimated they could.  And you come back at me—-your larger body, bigger tits—-full force, fists flying, hissing, “you are a cute bitch but i taught you all you know…but not all I know.”  I snicker as you come at me, my arms up, trying to block each wild punch as it flies at me.  An errant fist slams into my shoulder, another tags my chin.  Your height and therefore greater reach are obviously something I’ll need to counter, and I certainly don’t intend to stand here all night and be your punching bag. 

A third fist sneaks through my defenses and hammers my chest, and I use that as an excuse to go down to the floor—-gently, on my own terms, and if you want to think that your pugilistic prowess brought me down, more power to you, skank.  Quickly drawing in my legs, I then piston them out and slightly up, hoping to cannon-shoot the soles of my bare feet into your kneecaps.  “Please bitch, what you know could be typed up on one side of a postage stamp.  I’ve had more wins than you’ve had fights—-don’t you think I picked up a thing or two? “


Despite not knowing what is going on, the one thing I DO know is that this is going to be the fight of my life against my own creation. I manage to land a few shots but nothing too telling when you go down onto the floor, my forehead creases into a frown, I know I didn’t hit you hard enough…unless you aren’t as tough as you appear to be, maybe that explains the roughed up look you wear so well…did you get trashed by ya previous opponent…it would be easy to get careless, to march on in and try and finish you off, but I’m not that stupid…you go to your back and draw your legs to your chest…

I can see where this is going and hop back quickly as those feet drive towards my kneecaps…”not so fast bitch” I sneer as I make a valiant attempt to snare your ankles, fully intending to lift my right foot and as I spread your legs a lil…drive it down into your mound…”that’s one BIG postage stamp…”


My kicks miss—-I telegraphed it too early, and you back off as my feet hit air.  But you’re quick, grabbing my ankles, and I see your right foot rise.  Damn—-this can’t be good.  I quickly try and twist my body, flopping over to my stomach, my legs now crossed but still in your grips, as your foot comes down on my tight little ass.  “That’s as close as you’ve come to kicking anyone’s ass in quite a long time, isn’t it, loser?” I taunt, kicking wildly to try and  free my ankles from your grips. 


Oh you are a cute one…and I don’t mean that in any other way than you are a clever fighter…but then ya should be, I invented ya. You twist quick and roll to ya front, my foot instead of nailing your mound bounces off your tight perky buns…then ya kick ya ankles away from my hands…I step back…”so, what’s this all about?” I hiss, my fists clenched as I wait for ya to get up…I drop into a slight crouch not really knowing what to expect but ready to fight ya with everything I have at my disposal.

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My feet free, I twist again and spring to my feet as you face me, slightly crouched, fists at the ready.  “You’re a has-been, slut, that’s what this is about.  You’re threatened by me, and you tried to destroy me.  But you couldn’t even do that right.  So let me show you how it’s done…” I say as I step closer, pumping my right, getting ready to throw it at your pretty face—-one more step, and I feint with the right, hoping to draw your guard up, and instead throw a power left down and at your abs, hoping my attacks continue to wind you and soften your gut.  One thing I’m grateful for, as I became more popular, you wisely started to decrease the length of my posts, so now it doesn’t take me 6 paragraphs to throw a punch!

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Is my creation looking to destroy me and take my place, making me the creation and not the creator…did I drop into some parallel universe…you are back on ya feet and closing in…ya right raised, snapping out towards my face…I flinch a lil and throw up my left to block ya punch, but it was just a feint and ya left drives into my abs, catching me off guard and folding me a lil…”ooouf” but I know I have to fight the pain and come back at you as quickly as I can…good job I made you this small cute lil thing…I drive myself forwards, still a bit folded but just at the right height to drive my left shoulder into your gut and aim a right hook at your left side.

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You fall for the feint, and I slam my fist into your core with great satisfaction.  I can feel the abdominals push back against the punch, and curse you for being so fit.  Nonetheless, you fold a bit, partially winded, but it doesn’t slow you.  Bent, you attack, driving forward, your bony shoulder spearing my gut as your right fist slams into my side.   

“Ooofh!” slips through my lips at the double attack, and I realize that while you may be a washed-up, poor excuse of a cyber fighter, you are strong—-stronger than you made me, and going toe-to-toe against you is not going to end well for me.  Now it’s my turn to double over, my chest pressed against your upper back as I try to suck in air. 

My nutella-colored hair hangs down behind you, and my arms dangle at my sides.  But not for long—-as I try to force air back in my lungs, I bring my hands in and grab your panties from the back as I lay partially draped over you, and then, using a catfight move that I truly hate, i yank them up fast and hard, hoping to jam  them up into your body so far a surgeon may be required to remove them.  

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You hurt me, but I got a measure of revenge when I nailed your tummy n side…I hear you groan, not much but enough to give me hope. You think I am some washed up fighter despite the fact I am younger than you…well younger than I made you.

My shoulder charge makes you fold over my shoulder, yessss, now I have you, but then you do something you weren’t written to do…you use a catfight move and yank my panties viciously up between my butt cheeks and deep between my labia…those panties cost me $60 and right now $50 has vanished into my body…

I go onto tiptoes and gasp out a loud groan, my hands clasp onto your tight lil ass cheeks…my mouth hangs open as I try n fight the pain of that wedgie…then I try to rise and lift you, looking to topple over backwards, slam you onto your back and come down myself on your front…that’s if I can.

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I feel your body rise just a bit as I jerk the fabric up between those two perfect ass cheeks; you go on tip-toe, like that helps, and your groan brings a smile to my face, even as I lay partially over your back.  As my chest lays pasted against your back, even through your sweaty t-shirt, and the torn remnants of mine, i can feel the muscles in your back tense, and I know something major is coming—-just as you start to rise, lifting my lighter body off the floor, my toes no longer touching the carpet of your living room. 

You stand straight—-your strength amazing me, and I start to slide down your back, reluctant to do so, because I know that a topple backwards will flatten me under your bigger body.  My hands release the tiny bit of observable fabric of your panties and instead wrap around your thighs, hopefully hindering your maneuverability, and as I slide down more, my torn shirt rolls up under me and tears, falling to the floor. 

I try and maneuver my legs, draping one over each of your shoulders, and then pressing my thighs into the sides of your neck, lock my ankles just as you topple backwards.  I turn my head to the side so as not to get a fateful of floor as we fall, and hope that my arms, locked around your thighs, will absorb the impact as we free-fall backwards to the carpet.


Things don’t quite go as I planned, not that there was a great deal of planning involved…it just kind of evolved, just like you did in many ways.

But as I get you up over my shoulder and straighten up the plans was to splash you and crush you between my body and the floor, but you manage to get your arms wrapped around my body and your legs around my head, I still manage to topple backwards but it’s like having a python coiled around me as I go down and the effect I was hoping for is totally lost as you have moved ya head out of the firing line and ya have my body all wrapped up…

I’m on top, but struggling, my hands going between my face and your thighs as I try to spread your legs and free my face…I plant my feet and start to push up so I can slam my butt down onto your body


We land—-on my back, your bigger body atop mine—-but my legs remain coiled around your neck, and after I wince as the shot of pain shoots through my arms, I start to pulse them rhythmically around your neck, into it, squeezing and then holding it, as I feel your soft hands paw against my flexed thighs.  My arms are still holding your thighs, struggling as I feel you start to lift your hips, your ass rising, but my hold on your thighs prevents them from rising too much, and you slam them down onto my now bare chest, flattening my 32 B’s, and, I have to admit, the bare flesh of your butt rubbing against my tits is slightly arousing. 

I dismiss those thoughts, or try to, telling myself, “Wait, just be patient.”  After all, you didn’t write me any erotic traits until well into my CFC tenure.  Still, laying under you applying a head scissor may weaken you, but it won’t destroy you.  I pulse a few more times, smirking each time the pressure makes you cough or gurgle, and then finally I unlock my ankles, spreading my legs slightly to each side of your body, and raising them, I start to hammer my heels down onto you—-your face and chest, attacking those beautiful breasts with my feet, the hardened, bony heels, slamming them down into your orbs and onto your face as I maintain my lock on your thighs.


Try as I might I can’t get your legs from around my head and you flex and flex and flex ya muscles, squeezing me over and over and making my face turn red and my head ache…even my attempts at splashing my butt down on your body come to nothing as ya hold on tightly to my thighs…then all of a sudden you release the headscissors and I almost sigh with relief but it’s only so you can start to pummel my tits and face with your heels…

I twist my head left and right, frantic to avoid having my nose or mouth bust open…my hands move from ya thighs to ya calves as I try to deflect all the wild shots coming my way…I’m still helpless, still trapped and starting to get desperate.


“Hnn!  Hnn!”  Little grunts punctuate each kick as my heels pummel your chest and head.  You wisely turn your head to the side, to save your precious mouth and nose from the attack, so I gladly hammer your cheek and temple. 

“Hnn!  Hnn!”  Your hands spring up, grabbing at my calves, trying to lessen the impact—-now and then they do, as our limbs tangle, your fingers press into my tightened calf muscles, holding my leg aloft for a moment until I twist out and hammer it down again.  I LOVE the feeling especially when my heel flattens your firm but pliable breasts, the little gasps that shoot from your mouth with each blow.  


With each kick I get more and more desperate, trying to kick my legs out of your arms, trying to hold off your kicking feet… I’m on top but my back is towards you and it’s not a great position to be in in the situation I find myself…logic dictates that as I wrote your traits, I should be able to find a way out of this but it’s just not happening and with each kick to my head I am getting weaker and more dizzy.


THUD!  Another heel to the tit, and I note that your arms are not as lively now, as more and more of my kicks land, both on your chest and face.  “Back-space won’t heal those bruises, bitch,” I sneer, hammering a few more blows down onto your sexy but weary body.  Then I stop—-my own legs need a bit of a rest, and there is squirming from you atop me, but no aggression. 

Using my arms around your thighs, I turn and roll you off me, depositing you on your stomach, still no sign of your panties as I rise to my feet.  I stretch, arms over my head, and catch a glimpse of myself in your hallway mirror.  Barely 5’2”, chestnut hair to my mid-back, 100 lbs of tight, tanned toned flesh, right now wearing only my tattered panties.  Straddling your body from above,  I drop onto your back, letting gravity drive my tight cheeks into your spine, and then I lean forward to grab a nice handful of that sweaty blonde hair. 

Jerking your head up and back by the hair, I slide my feet up your back and drape them over your shoulders, my knees pressing into the sides of your head, and I wedge my toes under the collar of your t-shirt, sliding my feet down your chest from above, until my smooth soles glide atop your sublime breasts.  I gently rub my feet against them, and almost instantly feel the nipples harden against the tips of my toes. 

“Slut…” I hiss, bending my right knee out to the side, and then slamming it inward, against the side of your head.  I bend my left knee out and then slam it in as well, starting to play ping-pong with my knees as the paddles and your head as the ball. 


Your kicks finally start to slow but not before they have almost finished me off, you also take time to sneer at me and tell me again how useless I am…your kicking stops but I can do no more than lie there, my head, chest and arms battered n bruised by this strange apparition.

You are pretty much having your way with me now and you easily roll me off onto my front before rising up and straddling my broken body. You drop your butt on my back that makes me head and legs spring up, before my head subsides you grab my hair and start to work your legs around my head again but this time your feet slide down the front of my t-shirt…this allows your knees free access to my head and you start to bat it side to side making my eyes roll..spittle escapes from my mouth and flies across the floor…

I try n reach for your hand that holds my hair, wanting to free myself but the room is starting to spin as my creation takes me to school.

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“Maybe you shouldn’t have written me as so aggressive, huh Erin?” I taunt, slamming both of my knees simultaneously now, ramming them into the sides of your skull in perfect rhythm. 

“With most girls, I expect gray matter to ooze out of the ears eventually.  From you, I would expect just a long slow air-leak….” I giggle as I pound my legs together again, and then release your hair, letting your head drop to the floor face first.  I curl my toes and pinch your still-hard nipples, then slide my feet up and out of your shirt. 

“Now the fun begins..” I say, mainly to myself, as my hands grab hold of your t-shirt and I slide it up and over your head and arms—-the great Erin Lee, all but nude under me, at my mercy. 

Am I counting my chickens too soon?  I lift my foot and slam it against the back of your head.  A groan and a slight head roll, but no aggression.

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In different circumstances I would have laughed at your nasty comment about a long slow air-leak…seeing as I invented you, but these are not those circumstances as once again my head gets bounced from one knee to the other and then when you release my hair my face drops to the carpet and I barely even move, in fact, it hardly even registers that you are tormenting my nipples between your toes…

I groan weakly, still pinned down under you as you sit on my back…then my t-shirt vanishes and I take a kick to the back of my head that further grinds my face into that carpet. I try and shuffle my knees up, looking to get them under me but I barely have enough strength left to move my legs let alone to try and fire you off over my head.

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My smooth sole snaps into the back of your head, toes tangling in your matted blonde hair, and I grind your face into the rough carpet fibers.  Your body moves subtly, even in agony and under my control, every move you make is sensual, the defined muscles in your smooth shoulders flexing as you try to move yourself out of this position.  

I feel your legs shift, sliding under your prone body, in an effort to push yourself up to your knees, with me on top of you.  I almost—almost—admire that, but then I remember what you did—or tried to do to me…BITCH!  

As you struggle to your knees I rise as well, my pantie-covered ass brushing against your back as I push myself up in time with you.  I step off as you finally get to all fours, your breasts hanging down, swinging subtly, your head bowed as you try, at least I think so, to summon up the reserve strength to come at me.  

But I have no intention of waiting for you.  Standing to your side, I smirk an evil little one, and punt straight ahead— the bottom portion of my shin tagging your rib cage, hoping it’s enough to knock you down and over to your back.

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My rather feeble attempts at bringing my knees under me must have had you a lil worried cos as my body lifts slowly you go with it till you finally step off me to the side. I stay there with my head down resting on my forearms, drained and battered by this creation of my own brain.

I start to try and force myself to my feet but i have barely moved when a nasty kick scores a direct hit on my rib cage…i groan in pain and flip over onto my back…i’m beat, we both know that, i guess as an invention of my brain you know what’s going on inside it, I don’t know how this plays out but I do know I invented something way more vicious than I will ever be.

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The kick actually hurts my foot a bit, but the expulsion of air from your lungs at impact and your slow collapse and roll to your back more than compensates for it.  I watch as your body settles, tits jiggling slightly, and I decide now is the time finish this, to—delete you.  

I again straddle you from above, facing your feet, and drop, full weight, ass to your now-softened abs.  Your torso bucks up and then drops, as do your legs, and I wait for your body to settle again for a moment.  

To make sure I have free range, I grab your wrists, noticing the lack of any real resistance, and tuck them between my calf and thigh as my knees press into the carpet.  Grabbing the waistband of your panties, I slowly pull them down and out—it’s no small feat, I may say, as I think they may have been lodged against your lungs.  

Finally, with some floss-type action I manage to slide them out and down, letting them remain at about mid-thigh.  I sit back up straight, and just to set the mood, fire off a one-two combination straight down into your abs, to keep you, well, tamed.    

Then I lean forward, my flat stomach on yours.  I take your hands from my legs and slide them under your body, so that our combined weight pins them under you.    And then I just luxuriously stretch out, laying atop you, my head near your smooth mound, my thighs framing your pretty, but bruised face.
Sliding my right foot under the back of your head, I lift it up, enough so that my left leg can also slide under.  Crossing my ankles, I lock them behind your head and I slide back down your body just a bit, the sweat from our skin mingling between us, allowing me to glide sensuously over you.  

I stop when I feel your tits against my stomach, and tightening my ass cheeks, I lift your head with my thighs, hard and fast, and press your face against my ass, wrenching your neck and hopefully cutting your air.  I feel you struggle a bit, and I wait for your body to settle.  Then, taking my index finger to my lips, I wet it with my tongue, and then gently start to trace around your smooth sex, the saliva on my finger slowly mixing with your own body fluids.


You know I’m cooked and you have no hesitation in sticking the fork in me. You drop down forcing my last gasps of air out of my lungs. You trap my arms then not so gently force my panties out from between my cheeks.

The fabric cuts into my flesh as you saw them out of me and you lower them down to my mid thighs whilst I almost cry in pain, then you hammer your fists into my abs and this time tears do course down my cheeks.

You are determined to prevent me from moving if I even could by pushing my arms under my body and then lying full length atop me with your thighs around my head once again. I smell your scent and know you are getting off on the total destruction of ya author.

You then look to lock a figure four headlock around my head, forcing my nose up against your fragrant mound. I struggle briefly as my air is cut off but I soon subside and lay limply under you while you enjoy yourself by toying with my mound


I don’t want you out—I want you to know what I’m doing to you, so now and then I pull my legs back a little, giving you maybe a second to take a breath.  I almost wish I had had the foresight to get rid of my own panties, to make your humiliation complete, but this will do.  

They were so tattered from the pit fight with Cara, it’s the next best thing.  Wrenching your face forward again, I continue my playdate with your kitty, tracing around the perimeter, and then slowly sliding my finger into you—then two fingers.  

I hear you moan slightly as they enter, and I know you’re awake and experiencing it.  It makes me smile, and I call out to you, “You thought you owned me, bitch?  THIS is what it feels like to be owned.  My turn to press YOUR button, slut!”  

And with that, I start to pump my fingers—slowly at first, establishing control, until I feel your hips start to respond—subtly, as if they don’t want your brain to realize they are beginning to match the rhythm of my fingers.  

Pumping, in, out, faster, harder—this time, no reprieve from my legs—I try and keep your face buried in my firm butt, pressing you into me as I pump you harder, faster, my own breathing becoming rapid as I feel your body respond.  “Owned, bitch…” I seethe, knowing that the oxygen deprivation will make your orgasm all the more spectacular!
The little gasps and barely audible coos from your muffled face signal me that you’re almost there, and I pump even faster now, your hips arching up from the carpet with each pump, pushing into my hand, So wanting the release, waiting for the wave of pleasure to crash throughout your body even as you fight for breath…  Another whole-body arch, and I know you’re just about there—one more pump and……

I stop. Pulling my fingers out, your hips arched up, waiting, almost begging.  “You’ll get no such pleasure from me, whore…” I taunt, and I release your head, allowing it to spring back, the back of your skull hitting the carpet.  I sit up, sliding backwards on your hot, wet, nude body, and hover my tight little ass over your face.  

“You’re deleted,” I hiss as I lower my ass on your face, my taut asscheeks had just the right amount of pliability; as I press down, they mold over your face, assuming its shape, cutting off your air as you squirm and writhe beneath me…  and I just wait, lifting my arms in a victory pose as your body slows to a stop, the smile on my face the last thing visible as I begin to fade away, Cheshire-Cat style….


Just as I’m about to pass out through lack of air you ease your legs…not for long but just long enough for me to take a gasp…then you force my face back up against your panty covered mound. I’m so dazed and out of it by now i hardly realise what’s happening but I do realise you are playing with my labia, teasing it by running ya fingers around it and over it.

Then your fingers press in and enter start to taunt me, to make me feel worthless…tears again streak down my cheeks as you start to pump your fingers in and out of my sex..despite my predicament my mound gets moist as you use me…harder and faster, there is no compassion or sentiment here, you are set on my total subjugation, but not until you have humiliated me right to the very end…then just when it seems my body will betray me one last time you extract your fingers…and verbally taunt me again..this time however you are intent on finishing me…

I moan, seeking air wherever I can get it.…you release your figure four and I take a deep gulp of air, then you shuffle round and plant your tight ass over my nose and mouth sealing them from the air…I squirm feebly under you, but my movements don’t last long before I take my last breath and then lie very very still….

My eyes slowly flicker open, how long I’ve been passed out on the floor is anyone’s guess but it must have been for sometime as it’s still dark outside. I slowly stagger to my feet and look round, there is not a sign that you have been here other than my bruised and battered body.

I lurch over and sniff my glass of coke…was I drugged?…but no, it smells and tastes as it should..I can smell…and yes taste your scent on my lips and nostrils…and never have I taken such a one-sided beating before…I limp to the door and drop the latch checking every shadow before laying down on my bed…wishing I could have fought back better…but then was there even a fight?…my brain spins and my eyes close…tomorrow is another day.

I stayed away from CFC for a few days, still unsure about what had happened that night, and as the time passed, it felt more and more like an ephemeral dream—-like a movie projected on smoke.  Get too close, and the image dissipates. 

Finally, I logged on, anxious to burn off some mental energy and anguish in a cyber match. I checked my messages, and as is my habit, looked to see if there were any new message board fights or chat fight logs.  My fingers froze on the keyboard and my eyes widened, mouth going dry and heart pounding, as I saw the latest upload: Erin Lee vs MishRocks: Deleted!.

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