Brigitte shot a gloved fist towards the guard of the hulking individual opposite her in the ring. She followed one glove with the other, delivering a flurry of jabs to her partner’s forearms before backing off and flutterstepping side-to-side to prep for the return volley of blows that expected to receive. Such a rebuttal, however, never came. She dropped her guard for a moment and hitched her gloves onto her hips, shifted her weight over to one hip, and cocked her head to the side.

“Kom igen, hit back! They’re not going to go easy on me while I’m out there fighting beside Reinhardt..” she whined across the her sparring partner on the other side of the ring. “..besides, I could use the stress relief.” Opting instead to not wait for any kind of answer, the toned, muscular Swede pushed a lock of umber hair from her sweat-beaded, ruddy, freckled face and returned her guard in front of her. Quickstepping into striking range, she delivered a pair of of haymakers to her opponent’s guard that sent him staggering back onto the springed ropes fencing in the practice ring.

This was her chance.

In one fell motion, the tawny-haired warrior cast her hand over her far shoulder, grasped at the handle of her training club and brandished it from the back-slung sling. She ducked in, charged to her on-the-ropes opponent, and swung the blunted sparring weapon at his exposed side. She felt one brutish swing connect, then proceeded with a follow-up. Brigitte spun on one heel, leapt off of the undersprung boxing ring mat, carried the momentum of the faux-flail around her body in a single rotation and took aim at where she knew her opponent’s chest would be.

A dull, thumping ‘thwack!’ reverberated out into the air as her weapon made contact. The practice tool wasn’t meant to do any serious damage, but she knew that her ‘training dummy’ was going to be feeling that combo for the next couple of days. She didn’t need to see him fall to the mat – but she did listen for it while she turned away from the sorry sight of her defeated opponent. Brigitte sauntered towards the other side of the squared-circle opposite the savage beating she had delivered.

“Alright, who’s next out there? I’ve only got another week or two before I say my goodbyes and ship off for the battlefield..” the dominant fighter called out, leaning onto the stretchy top ring rope. The wanna-be soldier took a moment to catch her breath before her next would-be combatant entered the ring. “Come on! Some brave hingst must want to take me on..” she groaned, this time employing a seductive timbre in her voice to entice one of the men of the rural stopover into being her next practice dummy. “You all know the wager, don’tcha? Take me down, and I’ll let you do anything you want to me..” 

This was often her last-ditch effort, and she wasn’t above baiting a new challenger into the ring with the implication that some kind of insatiable lust would overcome her had she found a fighter capable of putting her on the mat for a 3-count. In her nomadic travels across the war-torn countryside as a squire to Reinhardt, she had grown to make use of this tactic as a ‘necessary evil’ of sorts. Newcomers often garnered wary stares from the townsfolk, and pugilists of her caliber didn’t exactly inspire an abundance of training fodder after the first couple bodies hit the mat. There was, however, no shortage of horny, sexually-frustrated young men in any given hamlet from the scrapheap of Junkertown to the spires of Numbani. 

“Guess there’s no more worthy men out there.. shame, really, because I’ve got a lot of tension I could use the help of a big, strong man to relieve..” Brigitte mocked as she turned her back on the ropes, and the timid crowd on the other side of them. A pugnacious-looking hulking mass of a man standing only a few paces away from her made the boastful nord jump back into the triplet of ropes shock. 

“Helvete! Don’t scare me like that!” she squeaked as the cultivated exterior image of ‘bad viking bitch’ faltered for a moment. 

“I didn’t mean to intimidate you, Ms. Lindholm – but my name is Sven, and I do mean to try my best to beat you, if you don’t mind,” replied the well-spoken but, rather contrastingly shirtless combatant with the upper body of an adult male gorilla.

Brigitte considered this for a moment before inclining her head in acknowledgment of his fighting words. Sparing the remaining pleasantries, she raised up her fists in a bellicose admonition of her intent to box the newest fighter. As Brigitte sized up the next challenger to her proverbial title belt, she couldn’t help but notice the similarities that the gargantuan collection of muscles bore to the Bundeswehr of old that her mentor would wax philosophically about for hours after putting away a keg or three of ale.

The match began without warning. It started without the ringing of a bell, or the touching of gloves. Instead, it began when the burly challenger darted into range of her with a preternatural quickness and connected his glove with the side of her freckled, flush face. The next thing Brigitte was aware of was the sweat-stained boxing ring floor rushing up to her for an introduction of its own. The defeated Brigitte collided with the mat and settled there in a heap to the gasps of surprise from the menagerie of emboldened challengers and audience members alike.

Brigitte had learned from her mentor that it was important to fight with honor, and to protect those who needed protecting. In her travels across the bandit-ridden countryside with Reinhardt Wilhelm, the grizzled knight-errant, she had watched a battle-scarred old man don his suit of armor on a moment’s notice – the armor she was charged with the upkeep of – to valiantly ride into towns overtaken by thugs and extortionists for the express purpose of restoring order, and justice. She was there to take care of him (and his war-torn suit of armor) after the battle had run its course. She would patch the pock-marked metal of his armor when he was showered with gunfire. She would replace entire panels where some grunt’s weapon had bashed through it.

He did it without hesitation; a steadfast alliance with Lady Justice.

This man, however, had no such sense of do-gooding. 

She knew that when she felt the top of his foot connect with her gut. That blow clouded her vision, but the next, more merciless kick to the underside of her jaw cleared that up in a hurry. The dishonorable rogue was making it apparent that he was content to beat her into submission there on the floor of the ring after suckerpunching her to the mat. Several humiliating bodyblows later, and Brigitte felt her scalp tighten against a grip that her champion took of her hair. Body sore and panging dully with pain, the beaten-down fighter felt herself being lifted off of the mat to go face-to-face with the man who had just thoroughly laid her out.

“A thousand pardons, Ms. Lindholm – but, as you said,” the cinderblock wall of a man replied in a dulcet, reassuring tone, “.. they’re not going to go easy on you on the front lines, no?”

Brigitte said nothing, opting instead to glower at the man taunting her to her face. 

“Now, about that wager you have been teasing all of the able-bodied individuals in the village with for the past several days.. I think this makes me the winner, does it not?”

Brigitte, again, said nothing. If his fighting style was any indication, this man was not going to let her off of her big-talking boasts and implications of sexual favors to anyone who defeated her. Brigitte had yet to be held to her words; she had yet to be beaten. The shield maiden gave him the best acquiescent nod that she could manage with her whole head of hair tangled up in his grasp. 

“Good. In that case, you can start by sucking off my friend – he’s been limping two nights straight after ‘sparring’ with you, miss,” her rippling contest-winner said flatly. She watched as the fighter righted himself and whistled out into the training hall Brigitte had been ‘alpha bitch’ of for the past several days. There was a shuffling of bodies out in the crowd, and then a scrawny-looking twig of a man clambered through the ropes. She recognized him instantly, and she certainly recognized the shiner she had left on his right cheek – the one above his fat lip – that she had left on him following their bout.

“Have a seat in the stool in the corner, mate. I’ll bring her over to you. It’s the least she can do after roughing you up so bad, no?” spoke the adjudicator seeing that she righted the wrongs she had committed in the ring.

Brigitte was first dragged by her hair by the commanding grip of her victor, but she managed to scramble up onto her hands and knees before he ended up ripping any of the burnt-orange hair from her scalp. As she was walked on all fours over to the pitiful looking individual in the corner of the ring, Brigitte watched as he withdrew his cock from his sack-cloth shorts. A few feet short of where she needed to be, her hair fell around her face, released from the lumbering ape’s fist.

“Crawl the rest of the way, Ms. Lindholm,” said the ape from behind her. The shield-bashing justiciar could practically hear his cocky expression no doubt plastered on his face as he ordered around the stalwart justice-bringer with a bruised ego.

“If Reinhardt could see me now..” she thought, watching the scowling face of the plough-pulling whelp she had soundly trounced growing closer as she crawled towards him. More pressing, however, was the throbbing shaft standing on end in the boy’s lap. Brigitte knew that she wasn’t going to get out of this ring without ‘making it up’ to this farmer’s son by way of that dick being somewhere in the vicinity of her tonsils.

Once she was sat in front of the young man, she didn’t waste a moment in pushing her tongue out from between her flush-red lips and running it up the underside of the shaft seated inches away from her face. She ran her tongue all the way up from the base of his stiff shaft to the swollen, tender tip. After a clear-coat of her spittle had been painted onto him, the watchdog-turned-cocksucker brought herself up from her hands and knees to undo the bandana lashed around her upper arm. She tied it around her forehead to keep her red clay tinted head of hair out of her eyes.

“Get on with it, Lindholm! I’m comin’ up there after you’re done with him!” a voice called out from somewhere on the other side of the ring ropes. Brigitte narrowed her gaze up at the timid-looking ruffian that she had roughed up.

“You had better cum quick, kid, ‘cause apparently I’ve go– OUCH!” Brigitte yelped after her firm instruction given to the boy who looked only barely old enough to drink was cut short by a baseball glove-sized hand smack down onto her unarmored rear end.

“Get on with it, Miss Soldier. Word has traveled along with you that you’re just as good in bed as you are in the fields of combat – and my friend out there is right; you do have quite the backlog of ‘work’ to get to,” sneered the gravel-coated voice of the Sven, the bruiser who had cold-cocked her just moments ago. Brigitte’s big-talk had caught up with her, and her internal code of justice indicated that if this muscle-bound meathead wanted to share her with the rest of his township, that was the wager she would have to uphold.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Brigitte remarked up at the man in front of her, his cock resting on the side of her face.

Brigitte Lindholm had spent the last several years following in the footsteps of Reinhardt, who had taken her under his wing at the behest of her father, Torbjörn Lindholm. After Reinhardt’s sudden departure to join the rekindled flame of Overwatch, an alliance among highly specialized and talented soldiers to combat the rekindled threats around the globe, the shield maiden was left to her own devices for the first time since her formative years. Eschewing joining her godfather as he reunited with his previous unit, Brigitte instead opted to continue working on the armor suit she had spent years retooling and redesigning and continue the crusade for justice across the lawless, barren landscape.

“.. and now I’m about to blow this village boy because I couldn’t duck fast enough. Real smooth, Brigitte,” she thought to herself before forceably interrupting that train of thought by barging a cock past her tonsils and down into her quivering, gooey fucktunnel behind them. Her headwrap didn’t manage to keep her auburn bangs out of her face while she bobbed her head up and down in the crotch in front of her. Each of her sloppy slurps down his shaft brought a gurgling “g’lurch” or a throaty “hr-rk” roiling up out of her gullet. Within moments, she had effectively slobbered down every inch of the young man’s modest package – with a complement of dribbles rolling down over his balls.

“Sounds like she’s having a good time, wouldn’t you say?!” shouted the fighter who put her here in the first place out into the crowd.

“Helvete.. he’s not just letting me do this, he’s making a djävlar show out of it? Asshole,” Brigitte monologued – internally, having no other option with the cock sharing room with her humming vocal chords massaging at the veiny shaft. She could feel her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment at the spectacle he was putting on around her. Turns out, taking down every fledgling fighter in the village wasn’t winning her any fans, and a veritable reunion of bludgeoned challengers had assembled to watch the humiliated warrior get her ‘just desserts.’

“Who’s next? I beat the bitch, so she might as well belong to me for a while!” announced her new pornstar promoter. This was not the kind of ‘servicing the public’ that Brigitte had imagined Reinhardt wanted her to perform. “Ye– yeah, right! Look! I knocked her out cold, and she didn’t even hesitate to do what I told her to do!”

Brigitte did her best to block out the public shaming she was subject to and opt, instead, to get this kid off as soon as she could. He couldn’t be older than 19, so the cocksucking warrior princess figured that it couldn’t be much longer now – she had using her spit-slick lips to shine every square inch of his cock for the past several minutes.

As it turns out, to Brigitte’s chagrin, sucking cock through obligation to uphold one’s good word doesn’t automatically mean that the people you’re sucking off feel obligated to forewarn you when they’re about to cum. She learned this fighter’s lesson the hard way – through a cumshot flooding straight down into her belly. Somehow, the fact that she was, in that moment, a public cumdumpster as well made the whole ordeal that much worse. The blush on her slender, nordic features intensified as the farm hand drained his nuts down the back of her throat. Brigitte chugged down every drop.

Mercifully, she felt the familiar grasp on the back of her head yank her backwards off of the cock in between her pale lips so she slumped back off of all-fours into a kneel. The fresh-faced sucked-off teen slunk from the ring as quickly as he came, tucking his spent cock back under his rope belt that held up his tattercloth burlap breeches. Once her responsibility had flooded down into her stomach, an outburst of shouting broke out from around the ring.

“I want her next! She bruised me up real bad!”

“No, she’s mine next! I’m still walkin’ funny!”

“I was the first one she beat up on! She told me she’d go easy on me! I deserve the next round!”

Brigitte listened to the various bested ‘training partners’ she had beaten in the ring bicker over her like a piece of meat and suddenly felt a rush of guilt shoot up her spine. She had been too hard on these commoners, perhaps. She was a soldier-in-training, hand-reared by the legendary knight Reinhardt Wilhelm. What chance did most of these men have against her in combat? Maybe she deserved to get parted out for all the sexual favors she alluded to with no intention of ever having to dole out. Conveniently, the one man who had managed to best her made that decision for her with his next announcement.

“Simmer down, simmer down! You saw how eager she was to service the first, so you will all get your chance!” chanted her ad-hoc manager out to her devoted public, “.. won’t they, Ms. Lindholm?” The hulking, musclebound man knelt over and delivered that snide remark right to Brigitte’s face.

She resisted the urge to spit back half of the load of cum she had just sucked down into his face. With a swallow, the submitting Swede sucked down both her pride and the rest of the slimy glue off of her tongue and nodded.

“That’s what I thought.”

Brigitte watched as a colossal, callused hand swung down across her face and sunk digits into the supple flesh of her throat. As if she were a paperweight, her entire body was lifted off of the mat. The instant her knees left the ground, the hand constricting her neck clamped off her oxygen supply off from where she needed it most, and she began to choke. Ragdolling pathetically with her legs wriggling back and forth in a meek gesture of protest, she felt her body hauled like a RealDoll over to the side of the ring. She was deposited chest-first on the middle rope, and soon felt the top ring rope lashed around both of her arms. With her entire body suspended between the pair of inch-thick braided bungee cords, the debilitated, dethroned Brigitte was stuck with her knees slumped limply to the mat. Brigitte had trained in interrogation tactics with Reinhardt, but she hadn’t exactly prepared for what to do if she found herself bent over at the waist and tangled up in boxing ring ropes.

“One last thing to do before I had her off to you, gentlemen!” declared the man quickly growing spare on how much tolerance the justice-serving Swedish maiden had for dragging out her ‘wager.’ Unable to see anything other than the cobbled-together stone wall on the side of the practice ring, Brigitte was taken by surprise when she felt the waistband of her shorts torn down from around her jiggling, fair-skinned pair of asscheeks.

“Bare-assed and tied up. What if pappa finds out about this..” Brigitte scolded herself, lamenting how she let things go this far.