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Mercy vs Widowmaker (Blood/Bruises) (Patreon)

Published:
2020-10-09 08:34:46
Imported:
2026-06
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Searebel98

"Having trouble, kleine Spinne?" Widowmaker was unable to answer as her opponent continued her relentless assault. She still couldn't believe it. How could this have happened? She was the perfect assassin. Superior in every way that counted. She was faster, smarter, and stronger than any normal human could ever hope to be. So how was some glorified Swiss nurse beating her?! Mercy, for her part, was having the time of her life. Medical work was her passion, sure, but there were those times when the doctor's office wore on her. The paperwork, the overtime nights, the flirtatious patients -- of both sexes, by the way! -- faking injuries just to get in to see her...it was good to have a vent every now and then. And Widowmaker made for a terrific dummy to release her frustrations. More than that, though, it was personal. She and the rest of Overwatch found her teammate and friend, Lena "Tracer" Oxton, slumped in a Paris alleyway a week ago next to her removed harness, naked, bruised, and bearing blue lipstick smudges on various parts of her body. After she'd recovered enough to speak, she explained how she had challenged the French sniper to a personal match within her quarters at Overwatch HQ, without the rest of the team's knowledge. Evidently, she had been defeated and thoroughly beaten down. But Widowmaker didn't stop there. She took Tracer's comatose body home with her, threw her onto the bed, and violated her time and again before being beaten into unconsciousness once more and dumped in an alleyway. Tracer was crying when she recounted that particular bit. Mercy, for all her angelic patience and motherly care, was positively FURIOUS. Widowmaker needed to pay. So when she issued a challenge to Amelie in the same way Tracer did before her, she felt it was both duty and pleasure. Widowmaker was amused by the challenge. Tracer couldn't beat her. What chance did a petite dry nurse have? Plenty, as it would turn out. Widowmaker groaned as she was thrown against the corner, barely able to keep her mouthguard in as she panted through it. She'd given Angela more than a few bruises, but the doctor had taken them with gusto. Mercy, on the other hand, ravaged her with blows to her face, body, and breasts, all with appropriate surgical accuracy. Now she was drained, beaten to the point of breaking, and Mercy, in contrast with her nickname, had none to give this French witch as she sauntered up to her, smirking. "Oh, dear...you look somewhat unwell, Amelie. Do you need a minute?" The mocking tone Mercy spoke with only served as salt in the wound. "P-Putain...toi...espèce de...pute suisse..." Mercy giggled, despite the insult. "I'll take that as a no." Then, Mercy was upon her opponent again. Occasionally, she managed a counter, but it was always weak and ineffective. As a pathetic uppercut pressed against her cheek, Angela grinned as she slammed one of her own into Widowmaker's abdomen. The sniper could take no more and spat her mouthguard to the mat. Angela twisted her glove into Widow's gut like a knife. Amelie felt consciousness starting to leave her. No, she thought, it can't end like this! "Gute Nacht und süße Träume, Schlampe!" Angela's other hand came up in a finishing uppercut, and Widowmaker's rapidly blackening vision met the ceiling lights. Then it met a vertical view of the mat, coupled by her lost mouthguard and Angela's legs stepping around to face her. The last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was Angela's smug voice, counting in German... "Eins...zwei...drei...vier..." --- When Amelie awoke, she wasn't in the ring anymore. She was in someone's bedroom. Specifically, she was lying on the bed, naked. As she looked around, she quickly noticed that her wrists and ankles were bound by belts tying her to the bedposts. She struggled, briefly, but it was in vain; the belts were too strong and she too weakened from her beating. "Ah, splendid! You're awake!" Her attention turned to the figure standing at the foot of the bed. It was Mercy, healed of her injuries and now donning a skimpy set of black leather lingerie, thigh-high boots of the same material, and studded fingerless gloves. In her hands, a whip. Amelie's face quickly became one of abject terror as she registered her situation. "You know, Tracer told me about what you did to her. I was wondering..." She cracked the whip idly with an evil grin that even she herself didn't know she could pull off. "...how do you feel about being on the receiving end?" Widowmaker could only whimper. Tonight was going to be a long and painful one.

JYS

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