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Okay so let me start this story with a bit of my background. I’m new to the scene, haven’t been wrestling for very long and I’m a bit of what people call a jobber, I think? New to the terms, so forgive me. I stand at 5’4″, 127 pounds with mid back length strawberry blonde hair that I normally keep in a ponytail when I’m in the ring.
My attire isn’t all that flashy, simple low cut sports bra that shows off some of my cleavage, I may be new and not more than a middle b cup, but I know what people like. A pair of spandex shorts, more like granny panties, but they hug tightly and are comfortable. Best part is they have my name in this glittery blue font on the backside. They are my favorite.
So with that out of the way, I got invited to this private event recently and got a spot to fight. I was pretty jazzed about it, but they called it a Cake and Pie match. Has anyone heard of this? It’s a real thing right? I googled it and couldn’t find anything about it. Anyways.
There were only about a dozen and a half, two dozen people at this event. Nothing big, but still better than any match I’ve been invited to so far. Little place, the ring took up most of the room, just enough room for people to slide in between the walls and the mat to watch.
Alright, so I’m the first event and as far as I could tell, this was the only event. So I’m standing in the ring, warming up in my cute little ring gear stretching out as the crowd comes in. I catch a few ogling eyes, but I don’t blame them, I know what I’m wearing. This place had a very strict only watching, no touching policy so I felt pretty safe from the people outside the ring. Plus, it made me feel a little empowered.
What struck me as odd and I wasn’t sure why I didn’t notice it before I got into the ring, but the little walkway on the outside of the ropes, you know where you stand before you duck inside? It was lined with all types of desserts, exclusively pies and cakes actually. I figured that’s where the name of the match comes from.
Before I could think much on it though, my opponent came out and my Lord was he a big guy. I don’t mind fighting males, intergender can be a lot of fun, but wow did he dwarf me. He had to be 6’5″ 240 pounds and he was, well, actually pretty decent looking, but that’s off topic.
So he gets into the ring and I’m still kinda trying to find my bearings. New place, new crowd, strange match and now I have to fight this guy. The bell rings and I’m like a little doe caught in the headlights. He comes at me and fast. A slap across my chest puts me off balance, another punch to my midsection. I stagger back only to be grabbed by the hand and whipped towards the ropes, rebounding back into a clothesline. I’m flat on my back, sprawled out arms and legs to either side. He picks me up.
I don’t really remember much about the next few minutes, I recall just getting my butt handed to me. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure he was just softening me up for the rest of the fight.
I may not be the best fighter, but I’m rather resilient. I’m pretty sure I got gaziemir escort bayan a few good hits in (I didn’t, let’s pretend). So I’m a little dazed, my chest and midsection are burning a bright red from all the punches, slaps and kicks I’ve received. My ass is a little sore from how many times I’ve been dropped on it, but like I said resilient. I’ve just been whipped for what felt like the tenth time and as I’m flying back into him, I find a boot right in the gut.
The air rushes from my lungs and I double over, sticking my butt out, unintentionally, obviously, but for the first time. The tips of my fingers nearly touching the mat as I try to recover. My pony tail dangling just in the corners of my vision. Course, he doesn’t let me. This is the point I realized a few things. The first was when I felt something really warm and oddly shaped on the back of my neck. Then a pair of thighs press to either side of my head. I was bent over, head between this man’s legs. The odd shape? His junk. I was in trouble.
The second was the smell. He was sweating pretty badly judging by his musk, which meant that I was. It was pretty hot in here. Not important, but an interesting note.
The third was as my arms were hooked by the elbows and pinned behind my back, there was a cake underneath me.
From my dazed stupor it looked like something of a pound cake, maybe, with a thick glazing of what looked like syrup. The man heaved and my feet now kicked out from under me, my breasts and chest soon confirmed that it wasn’t syrup, but honey. I yelped out as I connected with the canvas, my chest quickly becoming sticky with the glaze as it spread everywhere.
The reason I mentioned the heat is because the honey hadn’t solidified, so it easily sloshed over and between my breasts and cleavage. Soaking into my top. I felt it even dripping down across my nipples. Crumbs of the dessert stuck in spots, clinging for dear life to not fall.
My opponent though, wasn’t done, despite my lack of air. He grabbed me hard by the knot of my ponytail and lifted me, forcing my feet underneath me once more. Remember the daze I mentioned earlier? It was worse now as he paraded me around for the crowd to see. I stumbled but maintained by balance, until he threw me again.
I was sent running into the ropes, once more. My breasts slick with orange glaze bounced with each step, allowing the sticky liquid to slide into places yet unreached in my bra. By the time I rebounded, my entire chest, cleavage, nipples and underboob had been introduced to the honey. I needed a plan, I needed to act, I thought as I bounced back.
I could, and that’s as far as that thought got before I met headfirst into a pie. The thick frosting splatted outwards around my face, catching my hair with globs of white, clumping red stands together. I staggered backwards, I could taste some of the filing, lemon meringue, a personal favorite. My hands reached up, attempting to wipe away some of it, but I only just succeeded in getting some icing on my fingers before escort gaziemir my opponent grabbed both my wrists, pining and locking them together with one of his monster hands.
I was already disoriented, my stomach, chest and back hurt. Don’t forget your breasts, I remember thinking at this point, which added a new level of humiliation to the mix. And now, I was blind, by pie.
I felt the man reach for my shorts now, grabbing at the spandex waistband and pulling it towards him. This would expose me, if I hadn’t always worn something underneath my bottoms. So lucky he, and parts of the crowd, could only see the matching thong underneath. In hindsight, I don’t think that was his goal anyways, because with my hands still pinned together he stuffed them into my shorts.
Lemon frosting brushed against my panties, smearing some of it across the blue fabric that covered my crotch. For a split second, I felt a sense of arousal. It added to the growing levels of embarrassment. If anyone could see my face, I’m sure it was red as my stomach.
Normally, this would be a silly gesture as I would just take my hands out. Only, under the relentless attack from my opponent, I couldn’t breathe without taking another hit, so it became impossible to remove my hands from their jail. Not that it would have mattered much.
I felt his foot kick the back of my knee out and I fell down onto them. My head spun as I tried to collect my bearings, but remember how I said I love lemon meringue? The flavor was suddenly filling my senses and I realized something had pushed passed my lips and into my mouth.
It didn’t take a rocket surgeon to realize what it was, but for those unaware, the man had his dick out and down my throat. His hand gripped my ponytail and he moved it with surprising efficiency. To mine or his credit, I gagged a little. My love for lemon meringue was second to oral, which made the next part even more difficult. My hands, remember the ones in my shorts, the ones dangerously close to my sensitive clit? They grew a mind of their own and they remembered the area very well.
Next thing I knew they were rubbing and grinding, matching rhythm with the thrust in my mouth. Pie frosting smeared against my panties, and I felt myself growing wet. I wanted to stop, part of me thinking to the crowd, but that was quickly overruled by the sensation of pleasure. I couldn’t focus on the fight anymore, not with this happening and that’s when suddenly he pulled himself free.
I stumbled forward a little, having grown accustomed to the back and forth motion. I could feel a tendril of drool break and flop against my lips. I thought maybe he was done, but that thought left as I was greeted with a faceful of hot mess. It sprayed across my chin, mixing with the frosting and oozing downwards. More of his load coated my chest, what was already slick with honey became another layer of sticky.
I moaned. I don’t recall wanting to, it just kinda slipped out. Maybe it was the feeling, maybe it was my hands. I don’t remember. gaziemir escort I just remember hearing a lot of cheering, followed by the feeling of my thong, not my shorts this time, my panties being forced so far up my ass I thought I heard them tearing. That pushed me over the edge and I came. I’m not proud of it and thinking back, it was beyond humiliating. Two dozen guys had just watched me take a facial, moan and cum within the span of a few seconds. (I’ll never admit it, it was probably one of the best I’ve had.)
So now, my face was covered in semen and lemon meringue frosting. My breasts were sticky with honey and more semen. My midsection was red from where I’d been kicked and punched. My crotch was a mess of custard and my own frosting. (My poor panties) And now, my panties were lodged up my ass. Fight over right? Not quite.
I heard the shaking of a can, you know one of the arsol ones? Then I felt a cold chill, not down my spine by down the crevice of my butt. I’d later find out it was whipped cream, but at the time I had no idea. My opponent had stuffed a can of it into my panties and was filling the entirety of my trunks, panties and between my cheeks with the stuff. Lucky there was no penetration, otherwise that could have been real messy.
The heat of the room had already begun tuning the cream into a mush. I felt it oozing and clinging to every curve of my backside. It just formed to my ass like a second layer. I felt some of it drop out of the bottom, running down my thighs. I whimpered, again, not because I wanted to.
I think that’s when I realized the fight was over, or at least coming to an end. I felt him wrap his arms around my midsection and hoist. I couldn’t really orient myself, but from my guess, I was upside-down, chin pressed to his waist, so close I could feel his erection still, my hands still in my panties, an ass full of whipped cream with his head between my thighs.
Next my head hit the canvas. The daze and disorientation went to encroaching darkness as my vision blurred. My backside followed and I heard a splattered noise. All the whipped cream in my shorts had nowhere to go, so it went where it could. I felt the cream on my crotch, around my waist, on my stomach. My lower back, my thighs and yes, all down and between my butt. (I won’t admit if any found its way inside.) I really liked those panties also, they were an absolute disaster now.
He grabbed both my legs and rolled me up, pining my shoulders and lifting my ass once more. My breasts pushed against my chin, attempting to smother me with honey and semen. My hands folded, cupping my still tender and soaked center, which forced another whimper. I heard the three count, hell, her could have counted to three thousand for all it mattered, I was done.
The last thing I remember before I passed out though was that he added insult to injury. He untied my boots and tied them together, well above my head. Once they were fastened together, he knotted the last of the string around the middle rope, leaving me on display. An unconscious, sticky mess.
I won’t over do this post with how I got out or the clean up afterwards, but that’s my first encounter with that type of match. This just sounded like the right place to share it. Any questions or comments, feel free to ask or dm me. Maybe if this is well received I might share other matches.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32