Catch

Good vs Evil

Chapter TWO: All the World’s a Stage

“So let me get this straight: you spent two years as a Royal Guardpony learning martial arts, traveled across the world to build upon your already extensive knowledge of fighting, invented your own style that adapted Minotaurian wrestling for quadruped grapplers, created a phony, sexually-charged combat sport based on Gryphonic pro wrestling and MMA, seduced Prince Blueblood into financing it, Blackmailed the Crystal Empire’s entire National Athletics Committee into recognizing it as a legitimate sport, conned both Fancy pants and Filthy Rich into sponsoring your promotion campaign, body slammed inspirational speaker and renowned life coach Iron Will on international television, kidnapped best-selling author A. K. Yearling and forced her to write your memoirs, came out of the closet, and somehow convinced Celestia's number-one-student-turned-alicorn—Twilight-freaking-Sparkle—to join your ridiculous erotic wrestling league and face you in a one-on-one, no-holds-barred, loser-gets-their-brains-fucked-out submission wrestling match?” Sunset took deep breath and a swig from her shot glass. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” answered Trixie. “Except for one thing: it’s not a one-on-one Match, it’s a three way Battle Royale. You’re coming with Trixie. It’s the league’s biggest match to date and Trixie can’t sell the “ultimate rivalry” angle without you. She already has Celestia and Chrysalis on the undercard.” Trixie sipped from the wine glass levitating in her aura. “What do you say, Shimmer. You in?”

Sunset downed her fifth shot of the night. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m in. But before this goes down there’s something I’m dying to know...” She leaned closer to Trixie, their elbows brushing on the countertop. “How’d you do it? The others I get—Blue Blood and Yearling and all those saps—but how did you dupe Sparkle into playing along?”

Trixie took another sip, slow and methodical. “I told her she might learn something.”

And she would. In sixth months’ time, Twilight Sparkle would learn what it was to be completely and utterly humiliated.

“Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner…”

The impeccable diction of ring announcer and former boxing judge, Tally Marks, boomed from the speakers embedded in the ceiling of the Matte City Superdome. He hovered above a huge boxing ring, his cow-spotted coat and graying mane awash in florescent lights.

Standing in a chamber hidden beneath the arena floor—her front hooves shivering against a set-to-rise metal platform—Trixie enjoyed the richness of Tally’s voice. This was it. In a few moments she would finally be alone in the ring with her arch nemesis, Twilight Sparkle.

Well, almost alone. She would have to share her rival with…

“…Sunset “The Prodigal” Shimmer!” Tally shouted from above. According to the enthusiastic ring announcer, Sunset was coming to ring with an impressive record of “7 wins, just 2 defeats, with 6 wins coming by way of knock out!”

Of all the dozens of random ponies that Trixie had face-punched during red carpet events, or body slammed on national television, or suffocated between her thighs while teetering on the lip of an active volcano (Mmmm, dominating A.K. Yearling before taking her hostage had been very fun), “The Prodigal” had been the only opponent tough enough to offer Trixie a decent challenge.

“And introducing next, fighting out of the red corner…”

…Twilight “Student of the Game” Sparkle. 13 wins. No losses. 9 wins by cattle catch: the princess’s favorite submission hold. Trixie pictured the haughty little twit prancing down the runway, her lean body sheathed in a tight-fitting gi, tail flouncing, hips switching in the nylon shorts molded to her shapely croup and toned-to-perfection upper thighs.

“All right fight fans, it’s time for the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” trumpeted an exuberant Tally Marks. Trixie shut her eyes and pictured him floating above the ring, his wings tracing majestic arcs in the air as he raised a microphone to the line of his mouth. “Introducing last, but certainly not least,” Tally continued, “the challenger set to approach from my left, fighting out of the green corner!”

Trixie’s eyes filled with starlight at the boom of Tally’s voice. Her pupils dilated with something too passionate to be simple arousal, too strange and gnarled to be love, and a sudden calm descended on her, chasing away her pre-show jitters.

“This dynamic pro wrestling dynamo comes to the ring with a record of 15 wins, just 4 losses, and 12 victories coming by way of rear naked choke!”

Hidden gears whirred in the chamber. The platform began rising.

“Joining us tonight from Canterlot, and fighting out of Showboat Gym right here in Matte City!”

Smoke now. And strobe lights from overhead.

“Fight fans, make some noise for the Crystal Empire’s favorite showpony—the ‘Great and Powerful’ Triiiiiiiiiiiiiiixeeeeee!”

And then cheers, bounding up in unison with the rising platform, the rising fireworks, Trixie’s rising pulse. Containing her excitement—no, her arousal—she swaggered down the runway that connected her platform to the ring, enjoying the unified and near-ritualistic chant of “Show-pone-ie! Show-pone-ie, Show-pone-ie!” that billowed up from the fathoms-wide, fathoms-tall stands.

After years of struggling to make a decent living as a traveling performer, Trixie had finally found a stage that suited her talents, and a public that appreciated her unique flare for the dramatic. The citizens of Matte City—the only city in Crystal Empire filthy enough to host this event—may have been a gaggle of perverted swine, but they were Trixie’s perverted swine, and she cherished them as she would any of her valuables.

They were almost too much to take in, her crystalline fans. Their rock-polish faces gleamed down from the heights of the stadium seats, like rows upon rows of diamonds arranged on a series of gargantuan shelves.

Once all three fighters were in the ring, Sunset hopped onto the middle rope, her hinds straddling the turnbuckle, and waved to her legions of screaming fans. She gave them an eyeful of her sylphlike physique, her body sheathed in scarlet trunks, matching hock-high boots and of course, her trademark masquerade mask.

Twilight waved as she hovered above the ring. The crowd soaked up her act, buying her innocent smile that ensured them she was only here for a bit of fun and fair competition.

And then there was Trixie, basking in her greatness, her power, perfectly content with gazing up at the crowd from the canvas floor. A star-speckled thong leotard hugged her torso, accentuating her natural curves, and a pair of thigh-highs bearing the same pattern stretched up from the boots on her back hooves. She removed her cape and flung it over the top rope, then grabbed the brim of her hat and tossed it from atop her silver mane. It sailed over the bleachers like a Frisbee, until five or six screaming fans reached for it all at once, clubbing and biting each other as they fought for possession of the star-speckled garment.

When the crowd finally settled down, a zebra referee directed all three combatants to meet in the center of the ring.

“Let’s have a down and dirty fight, ladies,” he said without the slightest trace of humor. “You know the rules: no biting, mane pulling or eye gouging. A fighter is disqualified if pinned, submitted or thrown from the ring, and the last fighter standing is the winner. We clear?”

The fighters nodded.

“Good,” snorted the referee. “Now touch hooves.”

Twilight offered her front hoof to Trixie.

“You must be joking,” Trixie sneered, leaving the hoof untouched.

Ruffled, Twilight moved on to Sunset. “Never mind, her. Let’s have a good match, Sunset.”

Sunset glanced down at the outstretched hoof and flashed a white-hot smile—a curved solar flare that seemed to leap off her amber face.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, bumping hooves with Twilight. “Lets.”

Each combatant struck a fighting pose. Sunset danced a nimble two-step on her hind legs, her fores raised, shoulders bobbing and dipping and bursting with sun-crackle energy.

Trixie remained on all fours, her stance an ice-sculpture compared to Sunset’s tribal sun dance.

And Twilight hovered, her front hooves raised and level with her chin, elbows bent, hind legs drifting above the canvas. They swayed lazily, the points of each rear hoof flirting with the pliable floor.

A ringside official gave the bell a high pitched DING!

And the fight was on.

Sunset led the attack, eager—perhaps overeager—bouncing to her hinds and flashing a swift up jab. The punch fell short by centimeters, flirting with the shell of Twilight’s eyelid, but succeeded in momentarily blinding the princess. A second jab followed the first, this one grazing skin, a peck on the cheek. Then a blazing cross barreled into Twilight’s muzzle, less a peck and more a sloppy, lip-bruising kiss.

But the Student hadn’t earned her nickname by napping in the gym. She rolled with the punch, cutting the impact in half, Shaking off the blunt force trauma, she beat her wings and swiveled her hips, her waist, her shoulders—her body corkscrewing in a dazzling display of balance and coordination. With her back hooves planted on nothing but thin air, she bent her stifles and fired a laser-guided hook, eyes trained on Sunset as the punch whistled forward in a compact arc.

Startled, the masked fighter jerked back, eyes gaping as the intended blow grazed the tip of her muzzle. She backpedaled to avoid stumbling, her rear hooves dancing a dexterous upright waltz, and Twilight gave chase, wings flapping as she peppered Sunset’s high guard with a flurry of bee sting jabs.

The crowd roared as a right cross tore straight down the middle of Sunset’s guard, blunting her jaw. A striding wingbeat brought Twilight closer, and, putting the whole of her weight behind the punch, she swung low and sank a hook at Sunset’s barrel, smiling with just her eyes as the masked fighter wilted around her hoof.

Sunset’s hinds buckled. As her body wilted, Twilight drifted back a half step and launched an uppercut to finish her offensive flurry. The masked fighter’s teeth clicked together as the blow lifted her off her hooves, sending her sprawling to the canvas.

Seconds before Twilight pounced, looking to finish what she’d started, a pair of azure forelegs snapped around her barrel from behind. Moving on instinct, she twisted in the tight grip and lobbed a blind elbow strike behind her back. Bone thudded against bone, but the fores coiled around her torso didn’t loosen. Instead, they hoisted her off the canvas and squeezed her tight… tighter… tighter… painstakingly wringing the breath from her lungs.

“Do you feel that?” Trixie breathed. “Feel how much stronger Trixie is than you? How easily she could crush you.” She flexed her biceps harder, earning a clipped “aaahh!” from the suddenly immobilized princess.

“If it’s so easy,” Twilight grunted, “then why not take me on by yourself?”

Trixie bristled. She bent her stifles and flung Twilight over her shoulders, driving the the crown of her head into the canvas. A monetary haze settled over the princess’s eyes, and when it started to lift, the underside of Sunset’s outstretched hind came into view, crashing down on Twilight’s neck and plunging her into the mist all over again.

The crowd roared for the dynamic duo, filling Trixie with confidence as she watched Sunset hoist their mutual rival back to her hinds. She had been craving this moment for a long time now, and with Twilight caught in Sunset’s full nelson hold—half-conscious as she struggled against two corded forelimbs—Trixie couldn’t help but feel that all her planning and scheming had been well worth it.

Stepping closer, she cupped her rival’s chin. “Trixie is going to enjoy this.”

A snarl replaced Twilight’s grimace, but the pained expression returned in earnest as Trixie’s left barreled into her underbelly. A wheeze slipped past her gritted teeth. Tickled by the sound, Trixie swiveled her hips and threw a hybrid hook-uppercut that blunted Twilight’s floating rib, buckling her stifles and making her head droop. Gravity and failing muscles tried to drag her to the canvas, but Sunset kept her standing, biceps flexing as she tightened her full nelson hold.

More blows rocked Twilight’s body, peppering her barrel with bruises and ugly red welts. It was like hitting the heavy bag back at the gym, except this bag was full of organs instead of sand, and could groan and gasp and express the most delicious kind of pain with its pretty face. Chants of ”Trix-ie, Trix-ie, Trix-ie” pounded the showpony’s ears, driving her hooves to bludgeon with greater and greater force.

And then she stopped—just stopped—letting Twilight’s body go slack in Sunset’s grip. She cupped her rival’s chin and raised it again, leering. “Give up?”

Twilight didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to; her answer came loud and clear in the form of a surprise headbutt.

Trixie teetered under the blow, then stepped forward, wound up and launched a wild haymaker. The punch cracked Twilight between the eyes, and her head popped back to crack Sunset’s muzzle, sending both fighters reeling. Trixie followed their clumsy backpedal, her right shoulder drawn back, hoof poised to throw another haymaker.

The punch was still whistling forward when Twilight flared her wings, fluttered off the canvas and thrusted her back hooves into Trixie’s chest. The princess hit the mat. Scrambled. Took Sunset’s back...

And then she was airborne, her neck lassoed by two powerful forelegs.

“Trixie has had her fill of you.”

With Twilight’s neck snared between her fores, Trixie bucked her hips into the princess’s rear, lifted, arched her back, slammed.

The ring shook. Twilight’s body spasmed, and, seizing the moment, Trixie manhandled on her, pinning the royal neck under her lap. She clamped her thighs around Twilight’s head, pinching her temples, and shoved her silky frogs over a purple mouth and nose.

“Trouble breathing,” she taunted. Her face crinkled with effort as she straightened her fores and locked her elbows, driving all her weight down on Twilight’s muzzle. The princess’s hooves grabbed at Trixie’s forearms, and her heels raked back and forth across the canvas, her stifles sporadically bending and unbending.

“Not bad, Trixie,” said Sunset, flashing her solar-flare grin. “But I think we can do better.” She plopped her rear onto Twilight’s underbelly, sitting with her back to Trixie, her eyes fixed on their victim’s writhing hinds. Then, still grinning, she dropped to her side, lifted Twilight's waist off the mat and nestled her victim’s body between a pair of sweat-glistened amber thighs.

She took her time, slowly scissoring her hinds around Twilight’s torso. She let the pressure build by degrees, her smile twisting into a look of exertion as her thigh muscles morphed from limp to taut, squeezing together with rib-crushing force. Both purple hinds kicked a beat faster, and Sunset grabbed one, putting Twilight’s spandex-clad mound on display as she pulled the limb across her chest, hugging it tight to her body.

Taking the hint, Trixie freed Twilight’s muzzle and clamped her front hooves behind the princess’s head, cupping it, her body quivering with anticipation. She peered down at Twilight, smirking at the sight of her rival peeking up, her red cheeks smashed against two curvy azure pillars.

“Submit now, and maybe Trixie will spare you the humiliation,” she tittered. It was a lie of course—a taunt meant to give Twilight some semblance of hope. She finally had her rival right where she wanted her. This was going to last a while, of that much Trixie was sure.

When Twilight failed to tap out, Trixie tucked the helpless fighter’s face between her thighs, smothering her, burying her muzzle in sweat, flesh and a thin layer of spandex. She pulled up with both forehooves and drove down with her hips, heaping all of her weight onto Twilight’s muzzle. Her hips wiggled as she settled onto her new seat, and her thighs pinched together, adding a tight squeeze to her smother.

Pants billowed into Trixie’s crotch, and desperate hooves pushed at her rear. A downward glance displayed the top of Twilight’s head, her horn, the tips of her ears, locks of purple mane—but nothing else. Her face was gone, completely hidden by Trixie’s lap.

“I think she likes,” Sunset jeered, stroking Twilight through a pair of soaked shorts as she continued crushing her victim’s ribs.

“Is that right?” Trixie breathed. “Does Celestia’s favorite whore like her punishment?”

Not waiting for or expecting an answer, she dropped to her side—turning Twilight’s face in the process—and crossed her boots behind the beaten fighter’s head. Gripping the back of Twilight’s mane, Trixie adjusted her hold and flexed her hinds. Her inner thighs dug into the princess’s flushed cheeks, bulging as they crushed everything from her temples down to her jaw.

The referee watched the action closely, leering. Beyond the ring the cheers had died down, replaced by the breathy huffs, puffs, and moans of ponies in the throes of self stimulation.

It was all so overwhelming: Twilight’s bruised and writhing body, the masturbating crowd, Sunset’s glistening muscles, her thighs locked around their rival’s barrel, grinding ribs, wringing every last drop of air from Twilight’s diaphragm.

The end came when Twilight finally slapped a feeble hoof against Sunset’s thigh, but the duo’s fun wasn’t over just yet.

“Oh, that’s it,” Sunset squealed, giddy at the sensation of Twilight’s slapping hoof. “That’s the spot... Touch me right there…” Biting her bottom lip, she shut her eyes and tossed her head back, her spine arching as she wrenched hard at Twilight’s hind. She relaxed her muscles, took a breath, and then gave her quads one last powerful flex.

Sitting on her rival’s face again, Trixie raised her hooves in victory, earning a cheer from her fans. The cheering grew louder as she yanked the crotch of her leotard to one side, uncovering a soaked pussy that was aching to be pleasured.

“Did you think Trixie would let you go so easily?”

Twilight tried to protest, but was forced to swallow her words, along with a mouthful of Trixie’s juices. The showpony wiggled her hips, purring as her naked lips mashed against her rival’s face. Splaying her thighs wider, she took the tip of Twilight’s muzzle between her glistening folds before clamping her thighs shut again, locking the princess’s face in place.

Muffled pants and cries tickled her lips, and weak forehooves pushed at her rear. She tried to start slow, but the thrill of Twilight struggling beneath her was too much, and she ended up grinding hard and fast right from the start. Her hips rolled as she rubbed her clit against Twilight’s nose and mouth, and her stifles pinched together, once again hiding the princess’s face from view.

She noticed Twilight moaning harder against her lap, and an over-the-shoulder glance explained why. Sunset had broken her hold, and her face was buried between Twilight's elevated thighs, her tongue lapping, lips kissing and slurping.

The sight peaked Trixie's arousal, giving her an idea.

“Use your tongue...” she ordered, panting and moaning. “Do it... or Trixie will smother you…”

A high pitched “Ooooooo-oh!” escaped her as Twilight’s tongue flicked against her slit. The beaten fighter lapped at her lips, her inner walls, searching for that little nub, perhaps hoping Trixie would release her if she pressed the right button.

When tongue finally met clit, Trixie hooked one forehoof behind Twilight’s head, burying that pretty face deeper in her crotch, and braced the other against the canvas. Her hips bucked hard, her mound slapping into Twilight’s mouth as she fucked that wonderful tongue.

“Mmmm-ooooohh…” she purred, her pace quickening. Her hips hopped up then thudded down, pummeling the beaten fighter, repeatedly bouncing the back of her head off the canvas. When she felt close to bursting, she once again snared Twilight’s face between her thighs and rolled to her back, taking princess and partner with her.

Her hinds straightened. Her back arched. She flexed and squeezed and rocked her hips, her forehooves pulling down on the back of Twilight's head.

And then she came with a satisfied squeal. Her inner thighs quivered against Twilight's temples, keeping the princess trapped while Trixie rode out the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Sighing, she released Twilight and shoved her way. Reeking of sweat and her own arousal, Trixie started to rise, but was interrupted by a sneaky pair of front hooves that grabbed her mane.

“That was pretty hot stuff,” said Sunset, standing upright, her front hooves tangled in Trixie’s sweat-matted mane. “And while I’m grateful for the good time”—she jerked Trixie’s head down, catching her in a front headlock—“I’m afraid this match is mine.”

Her stifles already bent, Sunset looped an azure foreleg behind her neck, then grabbed Trixie’s naked mound and hoisted her off the canvas. There was a falling sensation, something caressing her back—the top rope, she figured—and then her body dropped to the floor beyond the ring, her head striking a surface that was much harder than canvas.

The blow jostled her senses. When she came to almost a minute later, Sunset was standing over a beaten Twilight Sparkle, her hoof raised in victory.

“Sneaky little…” Still dizzy, Trixie rolled to her back and stared up at the stadium lights. Damn it. She should have known better than to trust a fiend like Sunset Shimmer.

Oh well, it hardly mattered now. A packed stadium of screaming fans had just watched her sexually dominate Princess Twilight Sparkle. So what if she’d lost the match; she had her revenge, and that as more than enough.

For now...