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Arabian Fights – Desert Nights

By Wolfboy

Jemma meets her match in the desert

Of course, Jemma and Beth had been delighted with Emma’s win, crowning her as the official world champion of catfighting. And they’d certainly enjoyed joining in with the celebrations over the next few days as well, as Emma was feted at the number one catfighter in the world. But they were also here to pursue their own agenda as well, namely to help Jemma gain experience against a number of different fighters around the world. As they came to the airport to see us off for our flight back home, with Emma having to declare one extra piece of luggage in the form of her championship crown, Jemma had some advice for Emma.

As she hugged her at the entrance to the departure lounge, she delivered her sound advice to Emma telling her ‘watch your back mum’ with a serious look on her face. ‘I saw the way the women you’ve met over the last few days have looked at you. They’re sizing you up, wondering if they could handle you….and most of them weren’t even fighters. That crown is beautiful, but it is a big shiny target on your back too’ she pointed out.

‘I know Jem….I know. It’s always been a thing, but it’s even more high profile now isn’t it?’ she replied, returning the hug. ‘You be careful too’ she told her daughter. ‘It’s a world full of devious people. Don’t rule out someone trying to get to me via you hun’ she said. We all knew that was a possibility it had to be said; it always had been, but a big shiny crown brought that potential even more into view now. At least there were no such concerns about the next two matches Jemma had lined up. Her plan to fight here in Dubai had been agreed some time ago and was a quite private affair with just a small invited crowd. Hardly the place for a nefarious opponent to make a statement of intent. Then she would fight an opponent in Suki Yammamoto’s dojo in Japan. Suki was the kind of woman who would approach Emma head on if she wanted a title shot we knew as we walked through that gate towards our flight home. Challenges would come soon enough, however they materialised, but for now, it was Jemma who was contemplating preparing for a fight.

‘I’m a bit out of shape after all that celebrating babe’ she told Beth as they got back to their hotel. ‘But I’m sure I’ll be OK’ she quickly added.

‘Well, you look in good enough shape to me Jem’ Beth smirked, eyeing her appraisingly. ‘Still, if you do want to work off some calories, we’d better get back to the room’ she smiled.

Jemma’s challenge here in Dubai was going to be against a French Algerian woman, Camille Belmont, who was little known outside of Dubai, but had forged something of a reputation on the scene there. Her fights all happened around the same sort of arrangement; a dinner party for the invited audience of about 20, with her fight as the main entertainment of the evening. It was an arrangement set up by a sponsor who liked to be able to entertain clients in an interesting but slightly different way. And he’d certainly had no complaints from anyone watching the exotic looking beauty in action so far. Camille had a good record; not unbeaten but rarely defeated, she would present Jemma with quite a test. But she was also an unknown quantity too, her record showing opponents with evidently good records, but none of who were known to Jemma or Beth.

The fight would also take place in a pretty unique setting. The dinner party was being hosted outside the city with a number of tents sent up around an area where a large rug covered the desert floor. Tables lined two sides of the rug for the handful of guests to ensure all would get a good view of the action. In the tents opposite were Camille and her husband, acting as her second, and Jemma and Beth in the other tent, both preparing for the action in a fifteen minute catfight. The rules were a little more strict here too than for Jemma’s last two fights. Only punches to the body would be allowed, there was to be no biting, no leaving the rug for any reason, and a one minute break between submissions. Unlike her previous two bouts as well, this match wouldn’t be topless, at least not from the start. The organiser had requested lingerie to be worn, something Jemma was happy to comply with, and she had delved into her bag to find an exquisite gold coloured longline bra in lace, with a pretty skimpy matching thong. She contemplated stockings, decided the outfit didn’t need them, and that they might have proven slippery on the rug, and then she walked out in to the gaze of the dinner party guests looking confident.

‘Ladies, gentlemen’ the organiser of the party said now. ‘This is Jemma from England, who is here to fight for our entertainment this evening. She is 19 years old, 5 feet 7 inches tall, 152lbs and 36D-24-36 with a record of 12 wins and 1 loss’ he informed the guests, drawing polite applause. Camille walked out on to the rug then to join Jemma, and she saw for the first time just how exquisitely pretty the French woman was. She looked stunning her simple white lingerie that offset perfectly against her dark coloured skin. A white lace and mesh thong sat snugly on her hips, while her breasts were covered in a white mesh bra through which her nipples were easily visible. She too had elected not to wear stockings, and Jemma noted her thighs looked to be real woman crushers. Not overtly muscular, but thick, powerful, and above all, womanly.

‘And as you know, this is Camille from France’ the organiser said now. ‘She is 25 years old, 5 feet 6 inches tall, 145lbs, and 36C-25-37 with a record of 17 wins and 4 losses.’

Experience then was on the side of the French Algerian fighter, but experience wasn’t the only factor in a catfight. Toughness, skill, ferocity, strength, stamina and heart would play their part too over the fifteen minute period. Some where amongst all of those factors, the fight would be settled as the organiser, apparently also acting as a referee called for the two women to ‘fight!’

They certainly did that in the opening minute with Camille showing speed to land a first stinging slap to Jemma’s face. It was delivered with speed and power that rocked Jemma a little but she stumbled forwards to keep up the attack and latched on to the long brown hair of Camille. Of course the French fighter responded in kind and grabbed Jemma’s flowing red locks, standing forehead to forehead, smiling as if she was pretty appreciative of the straight ahead challenge Jemma posed. She slapped again, hard to the face, a loud crack ringing out in the desert sky as her hand met Jemma’s cheek. It was already pretty clear that Camille hit hard, but Jemma shrugged it off for now and returned the favour. Both used the hair then to try to move the other woman around the fight area now, an occasional slap clipping off the other woman’s body. A scene played out across time, since the first time two women fought each other, hair a natural hand hold for each while their slaps already targeted the most sensitive areas. Both slapped to breasts, covered still in bras at this stage, both feeling those blows but not wanting to show it. Jemma poured on the pressure for a moment, going to a two handed grip of the hair, forcing Camille’s head back by it painfully, as she tried to shoot in a knee to the body. Camille blocked that in part at least, squirming her body out of range of the very worst of it, then it was Jemma who groaned loudly ‘UUGGHHH!’ as Camille whipped in a right hand on the waistband of her golden thong.

She sagged a little against the French woman who was a little surprised to find Jemma, who was still trying to catch her breath after the heavy shot, still fiercely in her hair, trying to rag her head around. Surprise, but no concern for Camille who held her ground, moaning a little at the burning pain in her scalp before she tagged Jemma with a slap to the face and followed it with one to the breasts. That was a heavy downward blow, enough to set Jemma scrabbling to keep that grip of the French woman’s long chestnut brown hair. All that achieved was keeping her in range to be surprised once more as Camille lifted her effortlessly to slam her at the centre of the rug. The rug was placed directly over the sand, which while it may have felt soft enough to walk on, offered no give to such a landing and Jemma groaned loudly in pain as the air left her body. The French woman was quick to follow up now and used a unique hold to put Jemma in a world of trouble. She controlled the head and used that to lift Jemma half clear of the rug, her other hand beneath the body of the redhead. As Jemma awkwardly half rose, she noted quickly that Camille was standing one leg either side of her, before the French woman snapped her legs closed around her body in a standing body scissors. Jemma cried out, feeling the strength in those woman crushers for the first time as they held her clear of the rug. ‘OOOOHHHHHH!’ she moaned, in some trouble as she reached up to try and grab on to Camille to support herself a little, thinking that might just alleviate some of the pain. Camille met her hands, taking Jemma in a double knuckle lock that may have helped to support her, but did nothing to get her free. Then Camille squeezed again, hard, punishing Jemma with the powerful scissor hold, making her cry out ‘AAAAGGGGHHHH!’ as Beth looked on in concern.

‘Submit?’ Camille asked Jemma quietly as she eased the power back to control Jemma for a moment. ‘I’m going to squeeze you again if you don’t’ she pointed out, just making sure that Jemma knew what was coming.

‘No’ Jemma boldly replied; ‘NeverAAAAAGHHHHH!’ she continued, her defiance turned to a cry of pain by the dark skinned French beauty. ‘I submit!’ she blurted out as Camille continued to put the squeeze on her. But then Camille showed a surprisingly gently nature, holding Jemma’s body and easing her back to the rug rather than simply dropping her as some might have done before going back to her corner. Jemma was quick enough back to her corner too, red marks clear on her body where Camille’s fists and then her thighs had tested her. She was breathing heavily too, still trying to catch her breath from the heavy punch that had gone in before she had been trapped in the scissor hold.

‘Deep breaths babe, slow that breathing down’ Beth advised, telling Jemma ‘shush, catch your breath’ when she tried to reply. ‘You know this already, but watch her right hand’ Beth advised now. ‘Circle away from it if you can. Especially early on in this fall, it’ll give you a chance to catch your breath a little’ she advised, knowing the mid match breaks to be fairly short. Jemma nodded, knew she’d have to use her wits a little to recover more in the match, before the organiser instructed ‘fight!’ again, and the match was back on with a little over three minutes having elapsed.

She may have been troubled by the power and speed of Camille’s blows in the opening minutes, but Jemma was no shrinking violet, anxious instead to get back into the action. She did so cautiously though, circling in the direction Beth had suggested, away from Camille’s right hand. ‘Clever girl…’ Camille smiled quietly as the action got underway and each landed slaps to the face and breasts, with a little less power due to the direction of travel each took through a minute of re-evaluation here in the second fall. Jemma had followed Beth’s strategy well, and she also started to come up with her own tactics on the fly, sending a couple of hard kicks into the thighs of Camille. A shrewd enough tactic given the crushing power of her legs, but the French fighter seemed fairly unconcerned, taking them before shooting back with a kick of her own. She delivered that kick off the left, cleverly forcing Jemma back towards that right hand suddenly, though this time she found a carefully tucked in elbow from Jemma catching the punch in defence. Now Jemma knew she had to turn defence into attack quickly, and she did so in the most basic of manners, using Camille’s long chestnut brown hair to roughly rip her to the rug on her butt. Jemma adopted the style of a straight ahead brawler now, delivering a kick to the body, then simply walked into Camille’s seated body, and pushed her to the rug on her back in a face sit. Hand still in the hair, she pulled Camille’s face into her crotch, reached back inside her bra to maul the French fighter’s breasts, and enjoyed the sound of her opponent moaning in pain and frustration. She tried to wriggle that right arm free from beneath Jemma’s legs now so that she might send a punch into Jemma’s side but her position took enough of the power out of the punch, and Jemma started to grind her hips, fancying that a submission could be coming her way quickly now.

Her fingers drew a moan of discomfort from Camille too as they continued to work away inside her mesh bra, and Jemma looked set to even things up as Camille groaned ‘OWWWW! NO! NO!’

Then it was Jemma suddenly troubled as she groaned ‘oh shit!’ as she felt Camille swing her legs up and wrap them around her. There was no questioning the power in Camille’s legs, and now she displayed her flexibility to quickly dislodge Jemma, rolling her backwards off her to the mat. Worse for Jemma; she was trapped again between the woman crushing thighs of the French fighter, on her back with her legs up in the air. And Camille squeezed hard, causing Jemma to groan loudly in pain again before she latched on to the French woman’s feet and started to twist and pull, desperate to get free. Camille had no intention to fight it for too long when Jemma started to work her toes, rolling free as she didn’t want to risk any injury, and that allowed both women back to their feet for a moment. Jemma was buoyed with confidence having felt like only moments earlier that she was in a position to force a submission, and she came straight on to the attack, going to the hair and trying to send knees into the body. Camille was on the defensive for a moment, moaning as she felt Jemma pulling at her long hair hard, forced to take the knees to the body, but she was a tough fighter too, puling Jemma in tight to clinch, risking further knees. She fired back one of her own too, targeting her right hand side, forcing Jemma to defend that. Jemma slapped in return to body and then head, then she groaned again, the air totally let out of her by another of those right hands to the ribs, delivered with power and precision by Camille.

She partly crumpled, going to her knees, only to be lifted back up by the French woman into a bear hug for the moment, arms grinding into her ribs now as she moaned ‘NNNGGGHHHH!’, feeling the constricting grasp. As Camille punished her again, Jemma’s eyes were screwed shut in pain while she reached for a defensive grab of Camille’s chestnut brown hair, trying to force her head back. That strong grip of the bear hug soon put paid to the hair pull though, a squeeze making Jemma shriek in pain before she was lifted into a pussy pounding atomic drop by Camilla. Jemma’s face was frozen in an expression of pain as she landed pussy first on Camille’s outstretched thigh, even before the French woman whipped another of those punishing right hands into her body, knocking her off to the rug. Jemma may have thought she couldn’t get any more winded than she already was as she gasped for breath; then Camille landed across her in something of a splash to test that theory. As Jemma groaned again, Camille shifted position in to a ‘69’ reverse head scissors, just positioning her own body off centre, as she gave Jemma a further taste of those crushing thighs. Jemma howled in anguish, feeling the power and she tried to prise the legs apart with her fingers to no avail. Then Camille followed up with a claw hold, applied on the stomach to make sure it was hard for Jemma to really catch her breath, and in a matter of a few more moments, Jemma was forced to tap out to the combined holds and drop 2-0 behind in the fight.

Once more, Camille was quick enough to break the hold and even check sportingly on Jemma before going back to her corner when she knew Jemma was OK to get to her corner. Again Beth faced the prospect of trying to get Jemma to catch her breath in the corner as she offered what she could tactically. The truth was that Jemma had to engage with Camille to have any chance of winning, but as she got into range, she would be open to the heavy body punching of the French girl. ‘She hits like a fucking mule!’ Jemma managed to gasp during the break, as if Beth might not have noticed that just yet. And with a fight just about half way through, the chances were she’d be tasting some more of that power before it finished.

Still, despite her troubles, Jemma was quick to get out to the centre of the rug for the third fall where she met Camille with a stinging slap to the face, followed with a kick to the thigh, and then grabbed her hair to hurl her back across the rug towards her own corner of it. This was Jemma trying to wrest back the initiative in the fight once again, undeterred by her opponent’s fierce body punching, as she used the hair to force Camille slightly up and drove a thigh into her face to send her back to the rug. An elbow drop followed, across the lower back, drawing a cry of pain from Camille as it landed. Once again, it looked like Jemma had taken back some control in the fight, and she followed up, grabbing Camille’s flowing hair as she lay across her back so that she could wrench her head and chest clear of the rug. ‘Nnnngghhhh….OOOOWWWWW!’ Camille moaned, first feeling the stretch from the hair pull, then the more immediate pain as Jemma started to maul her through that mesh bra. Effectively too it seemed as Camille continued to moan loudly, squirming beneath Jemma and trying to escape the mauling attack any way that she could. Jemma lay across her heavily though, pinning her in place; importantly in this position, her thighs and right hand were both out of the equation too. They were the two things consistently hurting Jemma in the match, but right now, as Camille shrieked in anguish, it was the breast mauling doing just that to the French woman.

Jemma knew she was close to submitting now just from the tone of her protests, but she was tough enough that Jemma felt the need to add something more to the mix. It came in the form of a handily applied half nelson, still with a grip of the hair for good measure, that allowed her to roll Camille to her back. Jemma moved quickly now, shifting into a reverse face sit and sinking her fingers back into Camille’s right breast straight away. Wisely she kept her other hand free so that she could fend off Camille’s legs when she inevitably tried to swing them up to dislodge her again. She swatted them away twice, heard the desperation in Camille’s voice beneath her butt, and then started to roll her hips and grind on the face of the French fighter. ‘Submit?’ Jemma asked, just getting a long groan of anguish in reply. She knew that Camille was close to submitting now; she worked the breast hard once more, then crucially perhaps, captured her legs as she tried to swing them up to dislodge her again. Folded, smothered, and getting mauled, Camille was quick then to submit, Jemma just as quickly getting off her and asking if she was OK before heading for her corner.

‘That’s more like it Jem’ Beth smiled, ‘she didn’t quite know what hit her then!’ she encouraged her girlfriend as there was a little buzz amongst the dinner party guests. They’d seen Camille dominate handily in the first two falls, and had seen how that often went then, with most girls not finding much in the way of fight once they’d tasted her power. Jemma had surprised them, and Camille a little, by fighting back to claim a submission, and she would a little over four minutes at hand to try and find an equalising one now. ‘You still need to watch that right hand Jem…’ Beth cautioned though.

‘I know babe, I know. But I’m not going to get to her if I don’t chance it at least’ she said as they were called back to start this fourth fall. The result of the fight was back in the balance, the dinner party guests had their eyes firmly on the action rather than anything on the table, and the two ladies circled there in the desert, the glow of the city lights evident now on the horizon. There was no real animosity here between the two women; both had taken their chances to punish the other when the chance had arisen, but they were quite sporting towards each other. Determined too, both giving and taking a slap to the face in the opening seconds. Jemma went for the hair, Camille thought better of it, ducking out of range, and tried to chop a right hand into Jemma’s body in reply. A hard punch, it carried all the intent of her previous body shots, but Jemma was wise to it and able to shift back out of the way just enough so that it just glanced across her belly. Camille was already on the move though, following up the punch she expected to land hard, taking a side headlock as Jemma tried to deliver a knee to the body but failed to connect with any power as Camille closed in too quickly. She secured the headlock, pulling Jemma in close to her breasts, moaned as Jemma hastily closed her hand on her left breast, and then flipped the gold clad redhead up and over her hip to the rug. A heavy enough landing for Jemma then and she found Camille lying partly across her, breasts partially smothering as she started to explore Jemma’s body with the fingers of her left hand. Jemma felt, rather than saw, her gold bra just being eased down a fraction, felt the breeze across her right nipple as it was exposed to the evening air, and then shrieked as Camille expertly pinched and squeezed it for a moment. All too soon for Jemma, Camille moved on to hammer that fist into her belly, showing that she packed enough power to draw a gasp with her left as well as her right. Then she moved back to the nipple, twisting then pulling it to make Jemma suffer some more before she felt Jemma’s hand in her long chestnut brown hair, quickly steering her into a side head scissors before she had time to defend against it. Jemma delivered a resounding slap into the body of the French fighter now, enjoying the way the sound of her palm on Camille’s skin rang out amongst the tents. And then, she stretched her legs out and showed Camille that she too packed enough power in her thighs to make a woman moan in pain.

It was a short lived success for her though. With her arms free, Camille was able to rain her fists into Jemma’s exposed body, three landing hard in quick succession, before she was able to prise Jemma’s ankles apart, and escape the scissor hold. Once again in the fight, Jemma found herself winded by the powerful body punches of the French fighter, giving Camille control as it went into the final stages. Camille waited, patient now, for Jemma to slowly half rise so that she could take her in a loose front headlock to bring her back fully upright. No sooner was she there that Camille released the hold and whipped a crushing right hand into Jemma’s body once more, knuckles digging in deep and causing Jemma to groan loudly as she doubled forward. An uppercut to the breasts straightened her up, knocking her right breast completely free of her bra before a second right hand to the body thudded home, and Jemma was dropped to a knee in front of Camille, gasping to catch her breath again. Camille went to the hair, contemplating bringing Jemma up for a body slam, but evidently felt there was no need for it in the end, instead simply pushing Jemma to her back and sitting on her D cup breasts to pin her to the rug. Despite her troubles, Jemma tried to bridge and squirm, hoping for some respite, but she found none as Camille inched forward, using her thick thighs to frame but not squeeze Jemma’s face now. She looked down at Jemma who still squirmed listlessly beneath her and told her ‘I’m going to sit on your face now. You do it so well, so it’s only right to return the compliment!’

There was no time for Jemma to reply now. Camille moved forward without another word and sat quite lightly on her face to start with, allowing Jemma’s first moan of distress to be heard quite clearly by the dinner party guests. Then she sat more heavily, controlling Jemma’s hands with her own for a moment as she started to mimic Jemma’s grinding face sit motion. ‘Is this how you do it?’ Camille asked quietly as she rubbed her white mesh covered ass and pussy over Jemma’s face now. ‘Oh….silly me!’ she smiled now, ‘you can’t really speak just now can you?’

And it was true, Jemma couldn’t really speak, couldn’t really catch her breath either. She was caught in a passable version of her own favoured submission move by a woman who had shown she had just a little too much for her. The effective body punching of Camille had proven slightly too much for Jemma and she was forced into a third submission just as time ran out, tapping furiously at the rug in surrender, desperate to catch her breath. Camille moved off her straight away, happy that she’d got a win as she sat by Jemma for a moment and asked her ‘are you OK?’

‘I’m OK’ Jemma gasped, still trying to suck air in. ‘My ribs feel like they’ve been hit by a truck though!’ she admitted.

‘Well, you’re pretty tough’ Camille told her. ‘I’ve had a couple of girls fold after one good punch like that. And thanks….I’m pleased you noticed how hard I can hit!’

‘Notice….’ Jemma laughed, her breath returning a little now. ‘It’s not like I could really miss it! Nobody has hit me quite like that before’ she admitted, before Camille helped Jemma up. Jemma was a bit surprised to see attention amongst the dinner party guests had already returned to their little knots of conversation.

‘I know’ Camille said to her as she read the look on Jemma’s face correctly. ‘They move on from watching us so quickly, but they pay well’ she smiled.

‘True’ Jemma agreed. ‘Very handy for us touring a few places’ she told Camille as they started to walk off the rugs.

‘If you want to earn more’ Camille told them, ‘I know someone who has similar types of events at his apartment. Pays well, and he’s always looking for blondes to take on his wife. She’s a pretty nasty piece of work in her opinion, but not as tough as she’d like you to think. If your girlfriend fights, she’d be just the type they like to look for’ Camille suggested.

‘I fight’ Beth confirmed, overhearing the conversation now. ‘And if I do it, it might just mean we’ve got enough to complete all of our tour plans Jem’ she said.

‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to babe’ Jemma told her girlfriend.

‘Awwww….being all protective of me’ Beth smiled. ‘But I want to earn my way too. I want to fight her….I want to beat her up for you’ she smiled. ‘Please make the call’ she said to Camille, adding ‘if you don’t mind?’

‘I’ll do it right now’ Camille smiled, heading to the tent that she had used as her changing room. So by the time they left the desert to head back towards the city in the chauffeur driven car they had been provided by the organiser, another match was in the offing, but this time, for the first time on the journey, it was going to be Beth at the centre of the action!