Secret World of Madam Poh 3 by Kitty Yong

Final Fight

We kept ourselves to Madam Poh's bed for the next two days before the fight, where Janet and her trained in all the skilful, sinuous and twisting moves of sexfighting, making each other cum repeatedly as cruel tongues or finger hold brought gargles of female jizz erupting around me. I was too exhausted to recount much of this other than the almost hypnotic sighs of the two madams, lovers and prize sexfighters, entwined thus.

It was on the third and last day before the fight that I realised that one of the women involved in tomorrow's battle might die. And I suddenly felt very nervous about this. The first was that my knowledge of Mandarin had improved sufficiently to understand that Poh had resigned herself to this fact, and was preparing herself mentally for it.

There was simply too much pride at stake between the two women to let it rest when one planted her foot in victory over the other's chest at the end of it. No. This feud was to be personal, at its worst, a fight to the death, at its most optimistic, one of them would be hobbled forever.

Her lit joss sticks and prayers to whatever angry deities she worshiped reinforced this feeling, as did a curious ritual I saw

Janet assist Poh with on the night before the fight, where Janet took a file to the older woman's fingernails and polished them daintily.   Poh then lightly brushed one finger against her fleshy forearm and a line of blood began to trickle. Nails were being sharpened. Claws for a bloody fight to the finish.

We'd got a hairdresser and beautician in to pamper her, an attractive young lass who modernised her look such that we barely recognised her when she was through, her morass of unruly curls cleaned out, primped and set, high, proud arching eyebrows waxed and ready and her finger and toenails gleaming with a professional grade manicure in her favourite black.

Cheen, the stylist, could not believe what Madam Poh was being prepared for, but assured us that she would love to see the match and root for her customer, even waiving her fee if Madam Poh agreed to use her services before her future matches. While it was a confidence booster, Poh looked at her and must have been wondering if she indeed would even be able to walk after tomorrow's bout.




A solid left from Madam Bei sent Poh Lee spinning and flopping on the mat, blood streaming from a swollen lip and eye, joining a stream from scratches to both her cheeks.

The latter had been made from little spikes that Bei had pierced into the folds of her labia to disfigure Poh Lee as she face sat her, and raked her pussy back and forth across the latter's face. It was a bloodbath.

Through the lens of the camera Janet had purchased for me, I was chronicling the encounter. The pictures I had here were enough to get me cover for Der Sturmer, but my heart was sinking slowly, with Poh Lee's fortunes, as the fight wore on. I contemplated slavery at the feet of Madam Bei, and fought to keep my cool. This time, I would not humiliate myself in front of the packed house by fainting again.

At least, I told myself, Poh Lee was not making it easy for Madam Bei.

In fact, Bei was a little stunned at how much resilience Poh had shown in their fight, and it was showing in her gradual frustration.

This match, their fourth, had gone on much longer than the last beating Poh Lee had received before submitting, and where I'd fainted.

They were already an incredible one hour and twenty minutes into the bout, and both were sweating and huffing and puffing, and a little unsteady on their legs, but Poh Lee was still nowhere near finished.  And although she'd been trapped repeatedly by almost every submission hold Madam Bei knew, she'd refused to go down or slap the mat.

"BIIITCH!!! WHY DON'T YOU GO DOWWWNN????!!!" Bei shrieked, in raucous Cantonese.

Accentuate the positive, I told myself.

Instead, so far, Poh Lee had fought as she'd been trained, conserving energy, rolling with the punches and using the opponent's weight and momentum, and not going for exhausting power moves that might backfire.

She'd even managed to get some hooks in, catching Madam Bei square on the jaw with a solid punch that sent her wallowing into the crowd at one point.

The Rising Phoenix Reflexology Centre was PACKED, as this prize fight had worked the gossip grapevine good. The total pot was well over half a million dollars, and there were as many men as women watching the fight.

Poh Lee was the sentimental favourite, especially with the women, but Bei played the men, including a flourish of a start where she allowed one early riser to ejaculate on her breasts so that she could wear him during the fight.

But the scary part was when the two had faced off before the bell. Bei seemed to have grown in stature since their last battle, and dwarfed our Madam Poh, her mammaries oiled and pampered thrusting proudly before her.

As her robe came off, there was a gasp as her bare, fresh shaven pussy gleamed with the spikes of metal on either fold of her labia.

True to my horrific prediction, she pointed at Madam Poh and uttered in a grave voice, "Na, wo ta se ni!" (I'm going to kill you today!)

Beside me, Janet knelt, barefoot, clad in a tight pair of white shorts and a backless light green kerchief top that showed off her

bare and powerful expanse of back.

She too had been changed by the ordeal of training with Poh over the past couple of weeks. her shoulders, arms and thighs were pleasantly bulked and she had a healthy glow from the active lifestyle. But her eyes were narrowed, watching the action with concern.

Bloody as she was, Poh Lee fought on, and crawled to her feet. We could only imagine what she was thinking, her sweat matted hair hanging lank around her ears. It was a miracle she hadn't been blinded by those vicious pussy spikes Bei wore.

With an anguished cry, Madam Bei charged at her, her bare sweating and blood streaked breasts bouncing with each stride as the crowd roared her on. But instead, Poh Lee danced to the side and caught her in the midriff with a perfect knee stroke. OOOORRRRFFF! Bei shrieked as she hit the canvas on her back with a wet, sweaty slap.

Staggering a little, it was now finally Poh Lee's turn to seize the advantage. Grasping Bei at the ankles, she let out a stentorian

bellow as she yanked them backwards and down hard, folding Bei over and slamming Bei's face into her own spiked pussy. A shriek of pain suggested that Poh Lee's plan had worked. Those spikes which Bei had pierced now cut into her own cheek flesh, cutting her own face and backfiring on her!!!

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!!" Madam Bei screamed as she clawed at her bloody cheeks.

We had a fight now on our hands, we hoped and prayed!!!

This was surely the end, I thought. if Poh Lee could not take out Bei now, this was probably it. There was not much rallying left in her, for all the training she'd received.

Mistake. Poh Lee tried to claw at Madam Bei's hair to drag her into a sitting position but instead took a shot between her thighs that had her doubled over, whimpering. Stepping back, Bei took a running kick at Poh's head and sent a spray of blood towards us, droplets of it landing on my camera lens as Poh careened onto her back, spreadeagled.

"POH LEE!!! QUAI DIAN!!! QUAI DIAN!!! DA!!!!" Janet shrieked, slapping the mat and trying to get her lover's attention beside me,

as I did my best to wipe off the blood on the camera.

But Poh could only shake her head, dazed, as Bei slid in to face her, spreading her crotch as she held Poh's legs open. Looking at me, she screamed, to cheers from her supporters, "Your BITCH! Now I close her pussy for good so you never fuck her again!"

And with that, she went into a crotch to crotch, slamming her own pussy hard at Poh Lee's digging the spikes into Poh Lee's vulnerable pink flesh and scraping and thrusting, yanking on Poh Lee's legs to slap her mound hard against her own.


Poh Lee shrieked, tearing at her hair as her body bucked with the pain and pleasure building up in her. Bei gritted her teeth, fighting to control her own pleasure as she spat,


"NOOOOOO!!!" Janet screamed in anguish beside me, slapping the mat, submitting for Poh Lee, and we knew it was over. But the winner was having none of it, and continued her lesbian thrusting, as Poh Lee's body arched and squirmed, a pool of her blood and juice forming under them on the blue tatami mat.

Reaching forward, Madam Bei grabbed the other woman by her hair and drew her face in close so that Poh's beaten and bloody face was near hers as she continued her thrusting. "Na! SEH LEH, huai ni ren!" ("NOW YOU DIE, BITCH!") Flinging Poh Lee's head backwards, she began to thrust and grunt like an animal her own screams of triumph and pleasure mingling with Poh Lee's suffering.


Silence, and her thrusting had stopped as her mouth opened in an "O" and she clutched at her neck. Seconds earlier, Poh Lee in sheer desperation, had cocked a free leg backwards and snaked it like a cobra, up, aiming for Madam Bei's neck. I remembered how her black, gleaming toe nails had been manicured by Janet down to the sharpness of a razors. Those razors struck with unerring accuracy, and blood began to squirt in pumping regularity from where they'd cut Madam Bei's throat, at the jugular.

Gurgling with shock, pain and revulsion at her own blood, Madam Bei dropped to the mat, and began to thresh. Janet and I rushed to Poh Lee's side, as Janet tried to stanch the bleeding at her pussy.  Someone was shouting over Madam Bei. In true prizefight fashion, it was unforgiving. The man made Bei whisper out something before he strode over to her through the press of people and yelled, "Poh Lee Wan Leh!!" (POH LEE HAS WON!!!)

Poh Lee's lidded and bloody, swollen eyes stared at us barely comprehending.

In a fight, almost to the death as I'd predicted, she'd come from behind and won! Suddenly, a scream of triumph went up from one woman, then another, as Poh Lee's supporters realised the same thing, and screams of joy erupted.



"Alles Klar, Dieter! See you!" And hung up on the German editor. It was tempting. I'd minted as Der Sturmer sold out with my photos and story of the secret underground prizefighting circuit in Singapore.  Dieter had called to say that I'd be offered a fulltime position and a cushy office in Frankfurt.

But I loved the south east asian sun, especially here on this beach in Phuket, Thailand, where the three of us, Madam Poh, Janet and I were lounging in front of our beachfront villa. I stared at Poh Lee, whose scars had healed with a concoction of papaya and milk, and who looked fetching in her skimpy black bikini, as her skin flushed a bright pink in the afternoon heat, attended to by some Thai buck, with a lascivious smile on her face. After her victory over Madam Bei, who survived by the way but is unlikely to fight again, she accepted the Rising Phoenix as collateral from her humiliated and beaten opponent, and promptly sold it off at profit. This extended vacation was on her.

"I want to fight Bei Xin again," she said, cockily. "After all, I haven't done her with the strap on yet, as was agreed?"

The woman looked great, and had lost buckets of weight. She was well into our training regimen now, with one change however. The trainee was Janet, who purred delightfully as she stretched her beautiful body out on the deckchair beside me, her bare creamy breasts glinting in the sun.

Her top hung from the arm of her chair, and she wore a matching diamond studded thong bikini brief that had some lettering on the waist. It read, "Winner, Phuket Ladies Nude Oil Wrestling Classic 2005".

I smiled. I was a natural at this.