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« on: April 24, 2025, 09:03:34 pm »Match 05 Build-Up
Madelaine Petsch 32B vs. Jayden Bartels 28C
Madelaine Petsch (Badass Barbies) vs. Jayden Bartels (The Wannabes)
Early Las Vegas Odds:
Madelaine Petsch: -160 Favorite
Jayden Bartels: +130 Underdog
Fighter Breakdown:
Madelaine Petsch – “The Scarlet Smotherer”
A veteran of the Badass Barbies, Madelaine’s spent the last two months locked in with her former Riverdale cast mates Lily Reinhart and Camila Mendes working on some of her classic moves like "The Chest Tank" fine tuning her patented slow-squeeze smother. She’s calm, calculating, and utterly cruel when the moment’s right.
Training Focus: "Long slow pressure holds," stamina drills, chest positioning
Signature Move: Cherry Lockdown — A vice-grip breast clutch that pins and compresses from the outsides, draining air and confidence with every crushing second.
Quote from Training Camp:
“Jayden’s chest may have a C on paper, but mine commands the room. She’s going to get lost under real curves.”
(Captioned under a slow-motion video of a busty Madelaine slowly shaking her head in disgust.)
Jayden Bartels – “The Redhead Rack Wrecker”
Her new training montage, filmed in high-def slo-mo, shows her launching short-range smothers on Kylie Jenner training dummies, her tight chest smashing into place with impact and intent. She's not trying to win the size game—she's betting on intensity, chaos a sharp tongue. Jayden's also been training with Bebe Rexha and Millie Bobby Brown, focusing on speed transitions, body pops, and fake-outs.
Training Focus: “Explosive impact,” low-center lunges, bounce-and-pin attacks
Signature Move: Bartels Blitz — A savage circular nipple grind, carving invisible circles around her opponent’s areolas like branding her as “verified... defeated.”
Quote from Training Camp:
“Madelaine's got soft-looking soap bubbles. Let’s see how they hold up when she faces off against a real woman.”
(Captioned under video of Jayden confidently detailing her strategy to take apart the redhead’s chest, point by painful point.)
Madelaine, nver one to back down, responed by saying. 28C's? I highly doubt it but if Jayden wants to bee dilusional then I'll just have to show hr what a "Real Pair" feel like up close.
(Captioned under video of JMadelaine shaking her head in disgus.)
The Trash Talk Gets Nuclear:
It started with one tweet. Jayden, clearly irritated by online chatter comparing their chest sizes, posted a selfie in a skintight sports bra with the caption:
“Reminder: Cup size ain’t mass. I may be 28C, but Madelaine’s boobs are just air with filters.”
Madelaine fired back instantly with a poolside pic in a barely-there bikini, cleavage deep enough to stir Twitter wars:
“If mine are ‘just air’… what’s it say that yours still look smaller pressed flat in a training bra?”
Jayden escalated with a brutal TikTok. She stitched footage of Madelaine from Riverdale—in a deep-cut top—and edited in a honking sound whenever Madelaine's chest bounced. Text overlay:
“Inflatable vibes. Hope they don’t pop when I slam into 'em.”
Madelaine, never one to lose the last word, took to Threads:
“Jayden better bring her chest in a carry-on. They won’t take up much space under mine.”
She followed up with a slow-mo training clip of herself smothering a dummy that had “JAYDEN” scrawled across it in lipstick, ending with a cold smirk and the phrase:
“I don’t play with princesses—I flatten them.”
Jayden’s comeback? A video of her bouncing rope shirtless under a sheer mesh top, captioned:
“Built for pressure. Built for bounce. Built to break Barbie’s chest wide open.”
Backstage Buzz:
Dove Cameron (Disney Princesses):
“Jayden’s just loud. When Mads gets her breasts all over Jayden, all that TikTok energy’s gonna turn into big sad crocodile tears.”
Sabrina Carpenter (Strikeforce):
“Madelaine’s all slow-mo seduction. Jayden’s a flashbang. Blink and you’re t!ts are flattened and on your back.”
Sydney Sweeney (Badass Barbies):
“Jayden thinks being a influencer wins chest fights? Not against a woman who trains for ten-minute smothers.”
Hayden Panettiere (Haydens Powergirls):
“Mads looks bigger, sure. But pressure doesn’t always mean power. Jayden hits fast and hits hard.”
Vegas Adjusts the Odds
Opening lines put Madelaine firmly in control, but after Jayden’s online firestorm and leaked training footage, the money started flowing in on the upset. Jayden’s sheer confidence and volatility have made bettors nervous—can Madelaine stay composed under chaos?
Updated Vegas Odds:
Madelaine Petsch: Even
Jayden Bartels: Even
Prop Bets:
Madelaine has the body, the experience, and the sheer “look” of a true chest queen. But Jayden brings wild energy, disrespectful speed, and the kind of sharp-mouthed rage that throws veterans off their game. It’s grace vs. grit. Volume vs. velocity. A controlled redhead juggernaut vs. a rebellious brunette influencer.
Only one woman’s chest is walking out proud.
The other? She’ll be smothered, flattened—and likely trending for all the wrong reasons.
Round 1:
The mat was soft beneath their feet, a padded checkerboard of pale pink and baby blue. But the air? Charged—thick with tension, thick with heat.
Jayden Bartels moved in a loose arc, barefoot, wearing nothing but skimpy shimmering purple fight shorts. Her chest, bare and glistening with a light coat of oil, rose and fell with steady breaths. Her dark hair was tied tight, eyes locked and burning with focused aggression.
Across from her stood Madelaine Petsch—frozen still, a pillar of cold, calculated confidence. Her red hair was tightly braided down her back, her pale breasts bare and proud, nipples stiff from anticipation or adrenaline. Her red shorts hugged her hips low, sleek and ready pulled tight between her round butt cheeks.
The referee, dressed in black shorts and a crop top, stepped between them and raised a hand.
"This is a nipple combat bout," she said, voice sharp and clear. "No punches. No closed fists. Jabs, rakes, pokes, pins, and slashes are all legal. Victory is by a full five-count pin—on the chest, a nipple inversion, or a verbal or physical submission."
Both fighters nodded, never breaking eye contact.
The bell rang with a soft echoing ding, but the silence that followed was thicker than war drums. No taunts. No words. Just two half-naked fighters with weaponized nipples and a singular mission.
Madelaine stepped in first—elegant, cold, her eyes locked on Jayden like a lioness preparing to pounce. Jayden moved faster, bounding forward with raw, electric aggression. But she didn’t crash—she swerved, twisted mid-step, and snapped her upper body into Madelaine’s like a whip.
Their breasts collided with a slap of damp skin, hardened nipples smacking together with audible snicks. The contact jolted both women—but neither backed down.
Jayden landed the first telling shot. A quick, upward body snap—a nipple uppercut—launched her stiff peaks into the underside of Madelaine’s breasts. The redhead gasped, caught off-guard as pain rippled through her chest. Before she could adjust, Jayden twisted again and raked her nipples diagonally across Madelaine’s areolas—left to right, then back again—like dragging glass across silk.
Madelaine gritted her teeth, staggered—but her counter was vicious. She dipped one shoulder, leaned in, and drove both nipples directly into Jayden’s with full force—a twin nipple poke, point to point. Jayden’s breath hitched. The sensation wasn’t sharp—it was blinding. A quick twist from Madelaine turned the poke into a grinding press, and Jayden reeled back a step, stunned.
“You like the taste of that?” Madelaine hissed low.
But Jayden didn’t answer with words—she answered with velocity.
She stepped in tight, twisting her torso hard left and right, raking her nipples across Madelaine’s again—fast, brutal, burning. Madelaine gasped, staggered back, but Jayden stayed close, now moving in a controlled pattern: stab, rake, press, rake, then uppercut again beneath the bustline.
Each nipple strike was deliberate. Each poke was a surgical needle seeking out the most sensitive nerves. Madelaine’s chest flushed deep pink as Jayden’s tactics began to wear her down.
The redhead tried to reset the distance, but Jayden surged forward in perfect rhythm, hips low, shoulders fluid, nipples stabbing upward in rapid-fire bursts—nipples-to-nipples, again and again.
“Ughhh—AHHH!” Madelaine cried out as Jayden shifted angles, pressing her nipples straight against Madelaine’s, pushing down with rhythmic pulses.
The ref’s eyes were locked on their torsos.
“PIN ATTEMPT!” she called. “One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . Fi .”
Madelaine, caught off guard by the onslaught, twisted violently, managing to knock their breasts apart just before the final count.
But Jayden wasn’t done.
She dropped her hips slightly and lunged again—chest snapping forward like a piston. Her nipples slammed into the redhead’s with such force it was like a double jab to the heart. Madelaine’s back arched, her mouth opening in a silent scream as both nipples compressed and began to sink inward under Jayden’s focused, merciless pressure.
“INVERSION ATTEMPT!” the ref barked.
Jayden's lips curled into a deadly grin.
“One… Two…”
She rotated her body subtly, using her core to keep the pressure evenly spread across Madelaine’s breasts.
“Three…”
Madelaine’s knees buckled—her nipples visibly folding in under the unbearable press.
“Four—”
With a guttural cry, Madelaine threw her chest forward with everything she had, shoulder rotating hard to one side, barely disrupting the symmetry of Jayden’s assault. Just enough to break the connection.
The ref threw her arm out. “NO INVERSION! FIGHT CONTINUES!”
Jayden stumbled back, panting, sweat slicking her chest. She almost had the redhead. So damn close.
Madelaine stood shakily, her breasts trembling, nipples a deep red and swollen. But her eyes—those emerald eyes—were on fire now. Enough was enough.
Jayden advanced again, but Madelaine was ready.
She sidestepped with snake-like grace, then spun into a half turn—a cross-body nipple rake, slicing diagonally across Jayden’s chest. Jayden cried out, doubling slightly, but Madelaine was already pivoting back in.
This time it was Madelaine who uppercutted—nipples thrusting up from below into the sensitive base of Jayden’s silky undersides. Then she leaned forward and stabbed both nipples directly into Jayden’s—fast, brutal repeated jabs her chest poking out with every step forward. One, two, three. Jayden reeled back, stunned, her body jerking reflexively.
The fight had turned. Madelaine drove forward again, twisting her hips to rake and poke in rapid alternation—nipples dragging like serrated steel, then snapping back for a cruel stab. Jayden cried out, reeling backwards—but Madelaine closed the gap with one final step.
Their nipples met again—pressing, locking, grinding. The redhead rolled her shoulders, slowly, deliberately, dragging her hardened peaks over Jayden’s in tight circles, over and over.
Jayden’s face contorted in pain, eyes shut tight. Had the Wannabees faltered? Was their nipple dominance about to come to an end?
“PIN!” the ref called. “One… Two… Three…Four …”
Jayden let out a primal scream and twisted her upper body with everything she had. The contact broken she slipped her nipples free from the tight compressed pin attempt.
Both fighters staggered apart, breathing heavily. Chests heaving, nipples raw, trembling with exhaustion and pain.
But Jayden—despite the near-inversion escape—still looked defiant.
Madelaine’s voice was hoarse but steady. “That was four seconds from hell. Next time… I finish it and I finish YOU.”
Jayden wiped sweat from her lip with her shoulder, never breaking eye contact. “Then I’ll drag you there with me.”
Jayden shook out her arms, chest rising and falling as she stared across the mat. Her breathing was tight, fast. Her nipples were bright red, puffed and furious—but so were Madelaine’s.
Both women were slick with sweat. Their chests glistened, their movements slowed just enough to betray the toll this brutal, focused combat was taking. The crowd leaned in, breath held, waiting for one of them to collapse. But neither had fallen. Not yet.
Jayden’s fingers flexed.
Madelaine’s fists clenched.
And then they charged.
The collision this time was thunderous. Breasts slammed together, skin slapping wet and loud, as their nipples crushed point-to-point once more—neither woman flinching. Madelaine growled, a low, feral sound from deep in her throat, and she suddenly shifted right—a vicious nipple rake, from top left of Jayden’s chest to the bottom right.
Jayden’s back arched from the sheer heat of it, but she retaliated instantly—a double upward stab, both nipples driving up under Madelaine’s like dual battering rams. The redhead cried out and staggered, her hands clutching at Jayden’s hips, trying to maintain the contact without toppling.
“NO HANDS, Officially warning for Petsch.”
Madelaine scampered to safety but Jayden surged again.
She dropped her hips, then rose like a phoenix—nipples uppercutting with terrifying precision, over and over into Madelaine’s tender, battered peaks. The sound of it—wet slaps, soft grunts, strained breathing—was almost obscene. She started grinding again, locking her nipples against Madelaine’s and turning, twisting, rotating. Dragging them in circles, X and Z patterns and diagonal rakes.
Madelaine screamed. Her breasts were being rubbed raw and her nipples were retreating.
Jayden saw it—the unraveling—and leaned in harder, pressing chest to chest, their breasts flattened together with nothing between them but fire and hatred. She whispered into Madelaine’s ear, voice like velvet and venom.
“You felt that Red. You were one second from losing. You know I’m stronger here.”
Madelaine's hands trembled and her hands involuntarily shot up and pushed at Jayden's shoulders.
“Get away from me!”
“USE OF HANDS! WARNING #2, PETSCH!”
Jayden took one step forward—just one—and lifted her chest upward then placed them down on the top of Madelaine's buds, using every bit of torque to force Madelaine’s nipples backward and inward.
“ONE!” the ref shouted.
Madelaine’s knees buckled.
“TWO!”
Jayden’s grin widened. She rotated her hips again and spun her shoulders, dragging her nipples in tight, circular motions that drilled into Madelaine’s sensitive flesh.
“THREE!”
Madelaine whimpered—whimpered. Her lips quivered.
“Oh Gawd! Please make her stop!”
“FO—!”
CRACK!
A desperate, wild rake from Madelaine—a full-body twist that caught Jayden’s nipples with just enough bite to break the pin. Jayden hissed and staggered back.
But Madelaine didn’t follow her chest numb. She was breathing like she’d run a marathon, her chest heaving violently. Her nipples were dark red now, swollen and flickering with tremors. Her hands covered them reflexively, briefly, before she forced them back to her sides.
Jayden saw it. The faint shimmer in Madelaine’s eyes wasn’t just sweat—it was the first glint of surrender. The redhead was faltering, and Jayden could feel it in her bones. The tide had turned.
Madelaine came in again, but the fire was gone from her charge. It was slower this time. Sloppy. Desperate, Flat Footed. Jayden braced herself, pivoted slightly, and angled her body just so. As Madelaine drew in close, Jayden dipped her shoulder, then surged upward with precision—her shoulder smashing under Madelaine’s right breast, folding it cruelly against her chest.
Gasps echoed. Kylie and Natalie screamed from ringside, howling foul. But the ref didn’t flinch. No whistle. No mercy.
Madelaine froze mid-step, crumpled slightly forward, her chest flattened and defenseless. Jayden didn’t hesitate, didn't care.
With a dancer’s grace and a predator’s intent, she swung her upper body in a sharp arc—both hardened nipples dragging across Madelaine’s from right to left in a vicious rake. Madelaine whimpered.
Then came the strikes.
One brutal stab.
Then another.
And another—each jab crueler than the last, her sharp tips spearing into the already tender peaks of Madelaine’s breasts.
The redhead gasped, her body recoiling in pain. She staggered sideways, one hand twitching like she wanted to reach for the damage, but knew she couldn’t. Not in front of this crowd. Not now.
Jayden saw her opening—and pounced.
She caught her from the side, driving one nipple into Madelaine’s left, then the other into her right, alternating like jabs from a boxer, snapping side to side. Each impact made Madelaine yelp, her legs crossing slightly as if her body instinctively wanted to fold inward.
“Finish her!” someone screamed from the crowd.
Jayden didn’t wait.
She pressed forward again, chest to chest, but this time instead of circling—she slammed their nipples together, held them, and then poked directly down and in—both stiff, unrelenting peaks targeting Madelaine’s battered areolas like twin spikes.
Madelaine screamed. A high, choking sound.
Jayden pressed harder. Ground in. Her upper body was shaking from the force of it.
“INEVRSION!” the ref shouted.
Madelaine’s eyes were glassy. She blinked wildly, trying to shake free, but her hands didn’t even rise. Her body just stood there, locked and trembling.
“ONE!”
Jayden leaned into her. Their foreheads touched. “Say it. Or I’ll push them into your spine.”
“TWO!”
Madelaine let out a choked sob.
“THREE!”
Her head drooped as she felt her nipples collapsing into her chest.
“Owwwww! No no no!
“FOUR!”
Madelaine’s legs gave out.
“FIVE!”
She fell into Jayden, who let the woozy redhead slide down the front of her sweaty body then gave her with a victorious shove. The redhead crumpled landing on her round butt, hands finally flying up to cover her swollen, brutalized chest. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now. Her breath came in short, sobbing gasps.
The ref turned to Jayden and raised her arm.
“WINNER BY NIPPLE SUBMISSION – JAYDEN BARTELS!!”
The crowd erupted.
Jayden didn’t celebrate right away. She stood over Madelaine, her chest rising, sweat dripping from the tips of her now-dominant nipples. Her body bore the marks of war—raw, scraped, trembling—but she stood tall.
Finally, she crouched beside the broken redhead and whispered, not cruelly, but like a queen speaking to a fallen rival.
“Nice try, Ginger. But you're not like me. Not where it counts.”
Madelaine collapsed fully to her side, curled up, hands still cradling her breasts as the sobs racked her body.
Jayden stood, arms raised, nipples erect in victory.
One round. One woman broken.
And Jayden Bartels reigned supreme.
Round 2:
The moment the bell sounds for Round 2, Madelaine Petsch explodes out of her corner like a cannon shot. Her eyes blaze with fury, the humiliation of Jayden's dominating win in Round 1 clearly boiling in her chest. The redhead is done playing slow and strategic. She's wild now, unchained, and every swing of her firm, freckled B-cups tells the crowd that revenge is priority number one and the cocky Wannabee leader is her number on target.
Jayden Bartels, meanwhile, looks unbothered—even smug. Her tight 28C chest gleams with sweat, every slight bounce mocking Madelaine. She sees her opponent's fury and grins, dancing sideways on light feet, evading Madelaine's initial charge with a grace born from youth and agility and years of dancing on TikTok.
"Aww, you mad, Barbie?" Jayden taunts, her hands behind her back as she dips just out of reach. "That your precious nipples got bent like rubber?"
“Just shut the f$ck up and fight!” screams a flustered Maddy.
Madelaine swings again—a brutal breast smash meant to cave Jayden's chest in. Jayden leans back, pivots, and counters with a sudden uppercut breast strike that clips the underside of Madelaine's right boob, making her wince.
The crowd roars as the round's pace goes from zero to chaos.
Madelaine regains balance and lets fly a massive side-to-side swing, her breasts slamming from left to right. The impact is partially absorbed by Jayden's shoulder as she turns in the strikes, but the force still rocks the younger fighter backward.
"I hate you!" Madelaine snarls, driving forward.
She fakes a jab and then lets loose with a savage double-breast drop, launching her chest forward and slamming her weight down. Jayden stumbles into Madelaine her shoulder bumping into Madelaine's/ She grits her teeth, clearly feeling the punishment.
But Jayden responds fast. Like a threatened mother robin, she feints a stumble, then leaps forward with a rising double-breast uppercut, her 28Cs crushing into Madelaine's ribs and lifting her breasts painfully upward. Madelaine gasps and staggers, one hand covering her chest instinctively.
“NO HANDS!, Warning Petsch!” Bellows the ref.
"That gotcha right in the Barbie bits," Jayden cackles.
“Screw you, Bartels! Just stop talking and fight!” Scolds Madelaine.
Jayden chuckles. “I am fighting and you . . . it sure looks like . . . losing.”
Madelaine's temper gets the best of her and now they're trading. Leaning in, smash for smash. Slap for slap. Chest crashes into chest with brutal, echoing thuds. Madelaine's technique shines through despite her anger—she spins into a spinning back breast smash that flattens Jayden's left boob, driving her sideways into the ropes. But Jayden recovers with a quick spring and delivers a breast jab right to the side that makes Madelaine fall sideways into the ropes.
“You swing heavy, Mads,” Jayden nods, her voice soaked in mockery as she rolls her shoulders, **** bouncing defiantly. “But I bounce harder, ****.”
Madelaine snarls, her chest rising and falling like a piston, rage boiling in her eyes. “Keep flapping that stupid brat mouth. When I’m done pounding your pathetic mosquito bites into paste, we’ll see who’s still got rhythm.”
Jayden doesn’t hesitate—she lunges in, shoulder rolling into a vicious series of side-swings, her breasts like twin hammers whipping into Madelaine’s upper chest with brutal, echoing slaps. Flesh slaps flesh, sweat sprays, and Madelaine’s body jerks with each hit.
But she grits her teeth and takes it—then twists, letting out a guttural grunt, and drives forward with a savage, all-in breast smash that slams into Jayden like a freight train. It lands dead center, bone-jarring, flesh-flattening.
Jayden’s mouth twists in agony, her chest visibly caving under the brutal impact. She crashes down, one knee barely bouncing off the mat as she gasps for air.
The crowd erupts—half in shock, half in triumph.
“That's a KNOCKDOWN!” Kylie Jenner shrieks from ringside, slamming her hand on the apron. Natalie Alyn Lind is already on her feet, pointing furiously at the ref.
But Jayden snarls through the pain, teeth bared as she shoves herself upright, spitting on the mat as she rises.
“Not today, Barbie,” she growls, standing tall again.
The ref spins around, voice sharp. “NO KNOCKDOWN! CONTINUE!”
Kylie throws her hands up. “Her damn knee hit the mat!”
Natalie is fuming, barking at the officials—but the ref ignores them, laser-focused on the fighters.
Jayden’s eyes narrow. She fakes a left swing, baiting Madelaine, then spins into a blistering combo—breast jab, breast jab, and then a savage breast uppercut that detonates beneath Madelaine’s chest, lifting her clear off the mat.
The redhead crashes into the ropes, gasping and clutching at her breasts—both of them turning a deep, angry red, visibly swelling from the relentless punishment.
The ref jumps between them, throwing a hand out.
“WARNING NUMBER TWO, NO HANDS, PETSCH!”
Madelaine glares, snarling, chest heaving with labored breath as the ref turns to the officials, confirming the warning. She doesn’t even pretend to hide the hatred in her eyes when the ref steps back to her.
“One more, and you lose the round.”
Madelaine doesn’t say a word. She just locks eyes with Jayden—like a predator promising pain.
But Jayden isn’t backing down. In fact, she doubles down.
She cups her own breasts, hoisting them up with both hands, smirking with venom as she bounces them tauntingly, eyes locked on Madelaine. “These **** just sent you flying, ****. Better start praying I don’t flip both your nips inside out before the bell.”
Madelaine lunges like a feral animal, but the ref steps in, blocking her path with a firm arm.
For a heartbeat, everything hangs in the air.
The tension? Nuclear.
The hate? Toxic. Volcanic. Uncontainable.
Neither one’s walking out of this round without blood, broken skin, and shredded pride.
Madelaine snarls like she’s ready to kill, then charges again with no hesitation, this time playing it smart. She fakes a brutal double swing—her breasts rising like wrecking balls—then ducks Jayden’s twitch-counter, a trap perfectly laid. In one sickening move, she plows her entire upper body into Jayden’s chest, ramming through like a missile.
Jayden’s feet leave the mat, her back slamming into the ropes with a hard THWACK.
But the momentum throws her back in motion, and she rebounds with fury—only to run straight into Madelaine’s trap.
Mads sidesteps like a matador, snarling, and sweeps a leg out with perfect timing.
Jayden trips hard, hitting the mat back-first, sliding across the canvas, her breasts bouncing wildly from the sheer violence of the fall. It’s a visceral, humiliating moment—flesh shaking, hair in her face, mouth open in shock.
Darci screams from the corner. “That's a trip! 3rd strike! 3rd strike!”
The ref ignores the alleged foul. “FIGHT ON!”
But the ref hesitates, caught between indecision and the stunned gasps from the crowd. The arena is a cauldron of chaos.
Jayden grits her teeth, snarling as she rolls onto her side, planting a hand and shoving herself to her feet with a growl.
"Cheap f*in’ shot, Mads,**" Jayden spits, chest heaving, voice raw. "But I’m still standing."
Madelaine’s grin is pure evil. Her body glistens with sweat, her nipples stiff from the adrenaline and abuse. “Not for long, ****. I’m just getting warmed up.”
Then everything explodes.
Jayden lets out a primal scream and charges like a demon, flinging herself forward with zero hesitation—a full-body, all-in breast smash that could level a wall.
Madelaine sees it coming—and she steps in with it, neither woman backing off. They collide mid-ring, tit-to-tit, chest-to-chest, like two freight trains slamming together. The sound is wet, thick, brutal—a slap that echoes in bones.
Both stagger back, dazed, sweat flying from their bodies.
Madelaine shakes it off first and snarls like a beast. She lunges, driving her leg forward, her knee punching into Jayden’s upper inner thigh like a spear, digging deep into toned flesh.
Jayden doubles over, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent gasp, all the air ripped from her lungs. She stumbles, clutching her groin.
Madelaine doesn’t wait.
She sees her shot—and takes it.
"You’re gonna regret those cheap shots, wh0re!" Jayden hissed.
“Cheat, me?” Now it Madelaine cackles who shoulders Jayden onto the corner and sends her chest forward with a brutal breast smash.
Jayden grunted as the impact hit her like a bus. She bounced off the ropes then spun, trying to use her speed to circle, but Madelaine was on her, smashing into her again and again, breast-to-breast, SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The thud of each impact echoing in the packed arena.
"Run now! You can’t cheat your way through this!"
Another crushing smash landed flush. Jayden gasped and stumbled. Her back brushed the ropes, her footing slipping—any further and she’d hit the mat. Her eyes widened in panic.
Madelaine wound up for a big one. A side-to-side swing followed by a breast uppercut that crashed into Jayden’s sternum with a sickening sound. Jayden doubled over slightly, chest quivering from the assault, her face twisted in pain.
The Barbies and Wicked Queens were screaming at the edge of the ring, stomping the floor, yelling for the ref to watch Madelaine finish it. Jayden was seconds from going down.
"Drop, cheater! Let everyone see you break!" Madelaine taunted, pulling back for one final breast drop.
Jayden saw it coming. Desperation flickered across her face, but she dropped into a squat, letting Madelaine's heavy drop swing harmlessly over. Before Madelaine could recover, Jayden launched a savage counter—a snapping breast jab that smacked into Madelaine's left orb and flattened it against her ribcage.
Madelaine grunted and recoiled—a mistake. Jayden surged up, landing a brutal uppercut that caught both of Madelaine’s breasts, lifting them upward into her own face. The redhead reeled back, stunned. Jayden pressed in, swinging wildly now.
"Still think I need to cheat to beat your soft t!ts?!"
Smash. Smash. Breast swings from both sides. Madelaine fired back. Their chests collided in chaos. Echoes of flesh hitting flesh roared across the ring as both women grunted, moaned, and screamed, their breasts turning redder with every slap, impact, and grind.
Jayden managed a full twist and slammed her chest into Madelaine’s with a wild spinning breast smash. Madelaine flew backward, catching herself on the ropes. Her arms dropped slightly.
Jayden surged again. Another heavy breast uppercut sent Madelaine bouncing off the ropes. This time, Jayden didn’t let up. She pivoted and slammed into her again, again, her smaller, faster chest pounding into Madelaine’s larger one with surgical precision.
Madelaine groaned, sagging slightly. Jayden smelled blood.
"Your **** are done, Barbie! One more hit!"
Jayden crouched, breathing heavy, her chest bruised and swelling as Madelaine teetered back and forth her legs barely holding her weight. Jayden sprang up, launching a final breast uppercut that connected perfectly. Madelaine’s chest jolted upward smacking into her face, her body arching back—then her heel slipped.
Her shoulder hit the mat. The crowd exploded.
The ref dove in, arms waving. "KNOCKDOWN! KO! KO! THE ROUND AND THE FIGHT IS OVER!"
Jayden stumbled back, panting, chest heaving, sweat and pain written across her flushed face. She raised her arms, a crooked grin spreading across her lips.
Madelaine, on her back, fists clenched in fury, kicked at the mat throwing a tantrum.
The Barbies were shouting, furious.
"She got lucky! That was a fluke!"
"Ref, you need glasses! Madelaine had her and you let it go!"
The Wicked Queens weren’t much quieter, yelling about bias and illegal moves—but the rules were clear. Any part of the body hits the mat, and the round ends. Jayden had survived the storm, fought back from the brink, and scored a clean, rule-bound knockdown.
Jayden leaned over the ropes, sneering down at the crowd.
"That’s two rounds for me and ZERO for the cheater, huh?"
She blew a mocking kiss toward Madelaine, who sat up slowly, red hair stuck to her face with sweat, her raw exposed chest pulsing with every breath—and eyes full of hate. She fought hard giving it everything she had and despite some unsavory moves was not able to beat the Wannabe leader.
Post Fight:
The moment the final bell rang, Jayden Bartels stood tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, arms raised in exhausted triumph. The crowd roared—not entirely in support, but in awe of the stunning back-and-forth battle that had just ended with Madelaine Petsch flat on her back, one leg awkwardly curled, lips parted in shock, her red hair splayed across the mat.
She had fought her heart out but she had lost and put her team in a precarious hole having to win the next two fights or face the embarrassment of losing a breast battle to the clearly smaller Wannabees.
And now Jayden—bruised, battered, yet undeniably victorious—had five uninterrupted minutes to make a statement.
The referee stepped aside, making no move to stop what came next. The crowd began to chant, a mix of encouragement and eager anticipation. Jayden’s eyes locked on Madelaine, who groaned and tried to sit up, dazed and blinking.
Jayden knelt beside her rival. "You still with us, flame-top?" she asked, brushing sweaty hair from Madelaine’s face with mock tenderness. "Guess what? You’re not done but you will be soon enough."
With a sharp tug, she yanked Madelaine up by the waistband of her panties, dragging her halfway upright. The redhead winced, biting her lip in pain and embarrassment.
“On your knees.”
Madelaine hesitated—her pride, even broken and battered, still clinging to the last threads of defiance.
Jayden didn’t wait. A cruel smirk curling on her lips, she stepped forward and shoved Madelaine with her foot. The redhead collapsed to her knees with a heavy thud, eyes brimming with rage and shame. Her body was flushed, bruised, and her chest was heaving with pain—not from exertion anymore, but humiliation.
The crowd watched in rapt silence. Phones were out. Livestreams were buzzing. The moment was going viral in real time.
Jayden began circling her defeated foe, hands on her hips, cocky and confident as ever. “Tell everyone whose chest owns yours.”
Madelaine turned her head away.
Wrong move.
Jayden grabbed a fistful of Madelaine’s fiery red hair and yanked her head back hard, forcing her to look up. “Say it, or I’ll make you wish you had.”
The defiance in Madelaine’s eyes flickered—then ****.
“…Yours,” she muttered.
Jayden arched a brow. “Louder.”
Madelaine swallowed, lips trembling. “Your chest… owns mine.”
A wicked smile bloomed across Jayden’s face. She dropped to one knee in front of the redhead, her breath hot and smug. “And what are you?”
Madelaine could barely meet her gaze now. “A… humiliated loser.”
Jayden leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for the front row to hear. “Good girl.”
She stood up and yanked Madelaine to her feet, only to spin her around and crack her across the ass with a sharp, open-handed slap that echoed through the arena. The crowd erupted—some jeering, others cheering, but everyone watching.
“Every inch of you,” Jayden purred, fingers trailing down Madelaine’s spine, “belongs to me for the next few minutes. Let’s make them unforgettable.”
Jayden didn’t wait. She grabbed Madelaine by the waistband of her shorts and yanked them down in one swift motion, exposing the pale curve of the redhead’s ass to the entire arena. The crowd howled. Madelaine whimpered, her hands instinctively trying to cover herself—Jayden slapped them away.
“No hiding,” she barked. “You lost. You show everyone exactly what defeat looks like.”
Jayden knelt, balled up Madelaine’s panties, and shoved them deep into her mouth.
“There,” she cooed. “Now you can’t even talk back. Just kneel there and take it like a woman.”
She dragged Madelaine across the canvas by her hair again, forcing the redhead to crawl with her panties stuffed between her lips, stripped, beaten, and gagged. The cameras followed, zooming in on the trail of sweat and tears.
Jayden sat against the ropes and pulled Madelaine in by the hair again—this time into a brutal breast smother. She yanked Madelaine’s face straight into her sore, sweat-slicked cleavage and locked her arms tight around her skull.
“You’re gonna breathe my victory,” Jayden hissed in her ear. “And smell your defeat.”
Madelaine’s legs twitched. Her fingers clawed at Jayden’s arms weakly. Her body sagged further as oxygen disappeared from her world.
Jayden let her gasp for air only briefly—long enough to yank her upright and slap her breasts twice, hard, laughing as the redhead squealed into her gag.
“Whose rack wins? Say it!”
Madelaine, eyes glassy, mumbled something unintelligible through the panties. Jayden grabbed a microphone.
“Everyone listen up!” she shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “The Wannabees now lead you big-tit Barbie **** and Wicked Queen has-beens 3 to 2! That’s right—we’re kicking your proud, silicone-filled asses with our firm, natural, young racks!”
She pointed down at Madelaine. “THIS is what happens when your fake boobs meet the real thing. You break. You kneel. You submit.”
Cheers erupted from the Wannabees section, while the Barbies and Wicked Queens fumed from their corner, shouting at the officials. But the rules were clear—Jayden earned this.
She wasn’t done.
Jayden pulled Madelaine upright and dragged her to the center of the ring. She yanked the panties from her mouth and held them high before tucking them into her bra. Trophy number one.
Next came the ultimate degradation.
Jayden forced Madelaine down flat on her back, then straddled her face in a dominant, punishing face sit. The crowd gasped, then roared. Jayden adjusted herself until Madelaine’s nose disappeared beneath her crotch and her lips pressed against Jayden’s sweaty skin.
“Shhh,” Jayden cooed mockingly. “Just go to sleep. It’s the only way this ends for a humiliated loser.”
Madelaine squirmed—but there was no strength left in her body. Her muffled gasps slowed. Her arms dropped. Her legs twitched once more—and then went still.
Jayden stood tall, her chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and victory. She raised her arms high as the crowd roared.
Jayden drove her foot down between Madelaine’s shoulder blades, pinning her in place like the conquered prey she was. Her gaze cut through the arena until it locked with Kylie Jenner’s seething stare across the ring.
Jayden smirked, venom curling her lips.
“Three-two,” she spat. “And we’re just getting warmed up.”
She leaned forward, voice laced with cruel sarcasm.
“Maybe Vegas should fire their odds-makers. Underdogs in every fight... and we’re about to win five out of seven. Hope you Barbies and Wicked Queens enjoy the view—'cause this is what real dominance looks like.”
Jayden raised the mic, letting the noise settle just enough. Her eyes scanned the stunned audience—half gasping in awe, half wide-eyed in disbelief. She took a moment to soak it in.
“Did you see that?” she said, her voice amplified through the arena. “Did everyone just witness what the hell happened here tonight?”
She kicked at Madelaine’s still form gently, rolling her over with her foot. “This right here?” Jayden gestured down at the broken, red-faced, half-conscious Barbie curled up on the mat. “This is what happens when you come at a Wannabee thinking your big plastic **** mean something.”
The crowd popped, laughter, gasps, and scattered cheers beginning to surge.
“Madelaine Petsch strutted into this ring with her pale, freckled, phony queen energy. Thought she’d put us in our place. Thought I’d bow down to these,” Jayden said, nudging Madelaine’s exposed chest with her toes, “like the rest of Hollywood does. But guess what?”
She leaned into the camera now, grinning.
“I made her **** tap out. Twice!”
The crowd exploded.
“And now?” Jayden’s eyes lit with fire. “Now the score is three-two. That’s right. The Wannabees are leading the Barbies and Wicked Queens. Not just leading—humiliating them.”
The Wannabees' section began to rise. Chanting. Clapping. “Wanna-BEES! Wanna-BEES!”
Jayden’s smile widened. “Y’all hear that? That’s momentum. That’s dominance. That’s reality slapping you silicone-hardened **** right across the chest!”
She pointed toward the Barbie section. Kylie Jenner, arms folded, lips curled. Madison Beer, seething. Sydney Sweeney, stone-faced. Natalie Alyn Lind, fuming.
“Let’s talk about why this is happening,” Jayden continued. “It’s not luck. It’s not cheap shots. And it’s not because we’re dirty. It’s because we’re better. Better trained. Better conditioned. And yeah…” She gave the camera a wink, “…our breasts are smaller, firmer, and real. These chest-to-chest showdowns? We dominate. We crush. We own.”
Another pop from the crowd. The Wannabee chant grew louder, rolling through the arena like a thunderstorm.
“I want everyone to look at what just happened to Madelaine,” Jayden continued, walking the ring slowly like a queen addressing her subjects. “Because I didn’t just beat her. I stripped her. Smothered her. Slapped her. Broke her. Owned her. And she couldn’t do a **** thing about it.”
She held up Madelaine’s panties and bra, swinging them like victory flags. “Two trophies. One Barbie. All mine.”
Jayden paused at the ropes, pointing to Natalie and Sydney.
“And now? Let’s talk about the next two lambs lined up for slaughter.”
Jayden climbed the middle rope like a conquering queen, towering above the wreckage of Madelaine. Her lip curled into a sneer as she turned her glare toward the Barbies’ side of the arena.
“Natalie Alyn Lind,” she spat the name like poison. “America’s blonde bombshell, huh? Please. Let’s call it what it really is—Hollywood’s most overhyped pair of ****. You've built an entire career off your chest—no talent, no grit, just ****. You've been riding those silicone-coated airbags since you were sixteen, using them like backstage passes to roles you were never good enough to earn.”
She raised an eyebrow, mocking her prey with icy precision.
“Let's be real, you're only 25 and your **** sage more than Lindsay Lohan. Just being real here, Nat's. But guess what, sweetheart? Your little milkmaid fantasy ends the second you step into the ring with Madisyn Shipman. We’ve been saving her. Keeping her sharp. Letting the rest of you tire yourselves out before we unleash the real pain.”
Jayden’s voice dropped, cruel and cold.
“Madisyn is built like a damn weapon. She’s tighter, tougher, and ten times meaner than you could ever hope to be. And those soft, sagging distractions you call boobs? Madisyn will rip through them like paper. Her **** are pure steel. Her nipples? Weapons-grade. You’ll be choking on them before you even know what hit you.”
The crowd was roaring now, eating up every brutal word, the “Wanna-BEES!” chant swelling with renewed fury.
Jayden turned slowly now, facing the camera, her face lit with malice.
“And as for Sydney Sweeney…” She practically purred the name, dripping with contempt. “If you think those cartoonish beach balls strapped to your chest are gonna save you, think again. That Barbie fantasy you’ve been selling? It ends in the ring. You’re not the ‘It Girl’ anymore, Sydney. You’re just next.”
Jayden walked to the corner, pointing directly at Francesca Capaldi in the crowd, her red hair blazing like fire, her breasts standing tall defying gravity.
“Meet your executioner: Francesca Capaldi. You might’ve heard the nickname—The Barbie Killer. She’s not just coming for your crown, Sydney… she’s coming to erase you. You won’t just lose. You’ll get flattened, humiliated, and forgotten. You’re not walking away from this fight. You're crawling—if you're lucky and if Fran has her way you'll be leaving t!ts up on a stretcher.”
Jayden stepped down from the ropes, taking one last slow look at the camera.
“So go ahead, Sydney. Post your cute selfies. Put on your best push up bra and put your **** on display while you still can. Because after Capaldi's done with you? You’ll need to post a damn obituary for your career. This may be the last time anyone sees you post another annoying pic of your over-rated cleavage.”
And with that, Jayden dropped the mic, arms spread wide, as the thunderous chant echoed from every corner of the arena.
“WANNA-BEES! WANNA-BEES!”
The Barbies were shook. The crowd was converted. And the war had officially turned.
The slaughter had only just begun.
The Wannabees 3 – Th Badass Barbies - Wicked Queens 2
Written by the Badass Barbies
Madelaine Petsch 32B vs. Jayden Bartels 28C
Madelaine Petsch (Badass Barbies) vs. Jayden Bartels (The Wannabes)
Early Las Vegas Odds:
Madelaine Petsch: -160 Favorite
Jayden Bartels: +130 Underdog
Fighter Breakdown:
Madelaine Petsch – “The Scarlet Smotherer”
- Age: 30
- Stable: Badass Barbies
- Bust Size: 32B
- Strengths: Upper-body endurance, iron core, psychological warfare
- Weaknesses: Overly controlled tempo, slow starter
A veteran of the Badass Barbies, Madelaine’s spent the last two months locked in with her former Riverdale cast mates Lily Reinhart and Camila Mendes working on some of her classic moves like "The Chest Tank" fine tuning her patented slow-squeeze smother. She’s calm, calculating, and utterly cruel when the moment’s right.
Training Focus: "Long slow pressure holds," stamina drills, chest positioning
Signature Move: Cherry Lockdown — A vice-grip breast clutch that pins and compresses from the outsides, draining air and confidence with every crushing second.
Quote from Training Camp:
“Jayden’s chest may have a C on paper, but mine commands the room. She’s going to get lost under real curves.”
(Captioned under a slow-motion video of a busty Madelaine slowly shaking her head in disgust.)
Jayden Bartels – “The Redhead Rack Wrecker”
- Age: 20
- Stable: The Wannabees
- Bust Size: 28C
- Strengths: Speedy transitions, unorthodox offense, taunt-powered aggression
- Weaknesses: Light frame, defensive gaps under pressure
Her new training montage, filmed in high-def slo-mo, shows her launching short-range smothers on Kylie Jenner training dummies, her tight chest smashing into place with impact and intent. She's not trying to win the size game—she's betting on intensity, chaos a sharp tongue. Jayden's also been training with Bebe Rexha and Millie Bobby Brown, focusing on speed transitions, body pops, and fake-outs.
Training Focus: “Explosive impact,” low-center lunges, bounce-and-pin attacks
Signature Move: Bartels Blitz — A savage circular nipple grind, carving invisible circles around her opponent’s areolas like branding her as “verified... defeated.”
Quote from Training Camp:
“Madelaine's got soft-looking soap bubbles. Let’s see how they hold up when she faces off against a real woman.”
(Captioned under video of Jayden confidently detailing her strategy to take apart the redhead’s chest, point by painful point.)
Madelaine, nver one to back down, responed by saying. 28C's? I highly doubt it but if Jayden wants to bee dilusional then I'll just have to show hr what a "Real Pair" feel like up close.
(Captioned under video of JMadelaine shaking her head in disgus.)
The Trash Talk Gets Nuclear:
It started with one tweet. Jayden, clearly irritated by online chatter comparing their chest sizes, posted a selfie in a skintight sports bra with the caption:
“Reminder: Cup size ain’t mass. I may be 28C, but Madelaine’s boobs are just air with filters.”
Madelaine fired back instantly with a poolside pic in a barely-there bikini, cleavage deep enough to stir Twitter wars:
“If mine are ‘just air’… what’s it say that yours still look smaller pressed flat in a training bra?”
Jayden escalated with a brutal TikTok. She stitched footage of Madelaine from Riverdale—in a deep-cut top—and edited in a honking sound whenever Madelaine's chest bounced. Text overlay:
“Inflatable vibes. Hope they don’t pop when I slam into 'em.”
Madelaine, never one to lose the last word, took to Threads:
“Jayden better bring her chest in a carry-on. They won’t take up much space under mine.”
She followed up with a slow-mo training clip of herself smothering a dummy that had “JAYDEN” scrawled across it in lipstick, ending with a cold smirk and the phrase:
“I don’t play with princesses—I flatten them.”
Jayden’s comeback? A video of her bouncing rope shirtless under a sheer mesh top, captioned:
“Built for pressure. Built for bounce. Built to break Barbie’s chest wide open.”
Backstage Buzz:
Dove Cameron (Disney Princesses):
“Jayden’s just loud. When Mads gets her breasts all over Jayden, all that TikTok energy’s gonna turn into big sad crocodile tears.”
Sabrina Carpenter (Strikeforce):
“Madelaine’s all slow-mo seduction. Jayden’s a flashbang. Blink and you’re t!ts are flattened and on your back.”
Sydney Sweeney (Badass Barbies):
“Jayden thinks being a influencer wins chest fights? Not against a woman who trains for ten-minute smothers.”
Hayden Panettiere (Haydens Powergirls):
“Mads looks bigger, sure. But pressure doesn’t always mean power. Jayden hits fast and hits hard.”
Vegas Adjusts the Odds
Opening lines put Madelaine firmly in control, but after Jayden’s online firestorm and leaked training footage, the money started flowing in on the upset. Jayden’s sheer confidence and volatility have made bettors nervous—can Madelaine stay composed under chaos?
Updated Vegas Odds:
Madelaine Petsch: Even
Jayden Bartels: Even
Prop Bets:
- First to initiate smother: Jayden (-110)
- First to attempt pin: Madelaine (-135)
- Wardrobe malfunction: Yes (-115)
- [Post-match breast pose: Madelaine (-125)
- Tears on camera: Jayden (+140)
Madelaine has the body, the experience, and the sheer “look” of a true chest queen. But Jayden brings wild energy, disrespectful speed, and the kind of sharp-mouthed rage that throws veterans off their game. It’s grace vs. grit. Volume vs. velocity. A controlled redhead juggernaut vs. a rebellious brunette influencer.
Only one woman’s chest is walking out proud.
The other? She’ll be smothered, flattened—and likely trending for all the wrong reasons.
Round 1:
The mat was soft beneath their feet, a padded checkerboard of pale pink and baby blue. But the air? Charged—thick with tension, thick with heat.
Jayden Bartels moved in a loose arc, barefoot, wearing nothing but skimpy shimmering purple fight shorts. Her chest, bare and glistening with a light coat of oil, rose and fell with steady breaths. Her dark hair was tied tight, eyes locked and burning with focused aggression.
Across from her stood Madelaine Petsch—frozen still, a pillar of cold, calculated confidence. Her red hair was tightly braided down her back, her pale breasts bare and proud, nipples stiff from anticipation or adrenaline. Her red shorts hugged her hips low, sleek and ready pulled tight between her round butt cheeks.
The referee, dressed in black shorts and a crop top, stepped between them and raised a hand.
"This is a nipple combat bout," she said, voice sharp and clear. "No punches. No closed fists. Jabs, rakes, pokes, pins, and slashes are all legal. Victory is by a full five-count pin—on the chest, a nipple inversion, or a verbal or physical submission."
Both fighters nodded, never breaking eye contact.
The bell rang with a soft echoing ding, but the silence that followed was thicker than war drums. No taunts. No words. Just two half-naked fighters with weaponized nipples and a singular mission.
Madelaine stepped in first—elegant, cold, her eyes locked on Jayden like a lioness preparing to pounce. Jayden moved faster, bounding forward with raw, electric aggression. But she didn’t crash—she swerved, twisted mid-step, and snapped her upper body into Madelaine’s like a whip.
Their breasts collided with a slap of damp skin, hardened nipples smacking together with audible snicks. The contact jolted both women—but neither backed down.
Jayden landed the first telling shot. A quick, upward body snap—a nipple uppercut—launched her stiff peaks into the underside of Madelaine’s breasts. The redhead gasped, caught off-guard as pain rippled through her chest. Before she could adjust, Jayden twisted again and raked her nipples diagonally across Madelaine’s areolas—left to right, then back again—like dragging glass across silk.
Madelaine gritted her teeth, staggered—but her counter was vicious. She dipped one shoulder, leaned in, and drove both nipples directly into Jayden’s with full force—a twin nipple poke, point to point. Jayden’s breath hitched. The sensation wasn’t sharp—it was blinding. A quick twist from Madelaine turned the poke into a grinding press, and Jayden reeled back a step, stunned.
“You like the taste of that?” Madelaine hissed low.
But Jayden didn’t answer with words—she answered with velocity.
She stepped in tight, twisting her torso hard left and right, raking her nipples across Madelaine’s again—fast, brutal, burning. Madelaine gasped, staggered back, but Jayden stayed close, now moving in a controlled pattern: stab, rake, press, rake, then uppercut again beneath the bustline.
Each nipple strike was deliberate. Each poke was a surgical needle seeking out the most sensitive nerves. Madelaine’s chest flushed deep pink as Jayden’s tactics began to wear her down.
The redhead tried to reset the distance, but Jayden surged forward in perfect rhythm, hips low, shoulders fluid, nipples stabbing upward in rapid-fire bursts—nipples-to-nipples, again and again.
“Ughhh—AHHH!” Madelaine cried out as Jayden shifted angles, pressing her nipples straight against Madelaine’s, pushing down with rhythmic pulses.
The ref’s eyes were locked on their torsos.
“PIN ATTEMPT!” she called. “One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . Fi .”
Madelaine, caught off guard by the onslaught, twisted violently, managing to knock their breasts apart just before the final count.
But Jayden wasn’t done.
She dropped her hips slightly and lunged again—chest snapping forward like a piston. Her nipples slammed into the redhead’s with such force it was like a double jab to the heart. Madelaine’s back arched, her mouth opening in a silent scream as both nipples compressed and began to sink inward under Jayden’s focused, merciless pressure.
“INVERSION ATTEMPT!” the ref barked.
Jayden's lips curled into a deadly grin.
“One… Two…”
She rotated her body subtly, using her core to keep the pressure evenly spread across Madelaine’s breasts.
“Three…”
Madelaine’s knees buckled—her nipples visibly folding in under the unbearable press.
“Four—”
With a guttural cry, Madelaine threw her chest forward with everything she had, shoulder rotating hard to one side, barely disrupting the symmetry of Jayden’s assault. Just enough to break the connection.
The ref threw her arm out. “NO INVERSION! FIGHT CONTINUES!”
Jayden stumbled back, panting, sweat slicking her chest. She almost had the redhead. So damn close.
Madelaine stood shakily, her breasts trembling, nipples a deep red and swollen. But her eyes—those emerald eyes—were on fire now. Enough was enough.
Jayden advanced again, but Madelaine was ready.
She sidestepped with snake-like grace, then spun into a half turn—a cross-body nipple rake, slicing diagonally across Jayden’s chest. Jayden cried out, doubling slightly, but Madelaine was already pivoting back in.
This time it was Madelaine who uppercutted—nipples thrusting up from below into the sensitive base of Jayden’s silky undersides. Then she leaned forward and stabbed both nipples directly into Jayden’s—fast, brutal repeated jabs her chest poking out with every step forward. One, two, three. Jayden reeled back, stunned, her body jerking reflexively.
The fight had turned. Madelaine drove forward again, twisting her hips to rake and poke in rapid alternation—nipples dragging like serrated steel, then snapping back for a cruel stab. Jayden cried out, reeling backwards—but Madelaine closed the gap with one final step.
Their nipples met again—pressing, locking, grinding. The redhead rolled her shoulders, slowly, deliberately, dragging her hardened peaks over Jayden’s in tight circles, over and over.
Jayden’s face contorted in pain, eyes shut tight. Had the Wannabees faltered? Was their nipple dominance about to come to an end?
“PIN!” the ref called. “One… Two… Three…Four …”
Jayden let out a primal scream and twisted her upper body with everything she had. The contact broken she slipped her nipples free from the tight compressed pin attempt.
Both fighters staggered apart, breathing heavily. Chests heaving, nipples raw, trembling with exhaustion and pain.
But Jayden—despite the near-inversion escape—still looked defiant.
Madelaine’s voice was hoarse but steady. “That was four seconds from hell. Next time… I finish it and I finish YOU.”
Jayden wiped sweat from her lip with her shoulder, never breaking eye contact. “Then I’ll drag you there with me.”
Jayden shook out her arms, chest rising and falling as she stared across the mat. Her breathing was tight, fast. Her nipples were bright red, puffed and furious—but so were Madelaine’s.
Both women were slick with sweat. Their chests glistened, their movements slowed just enough to betray the toll this brutal, focused combat was taking. The crowd leaned in, breath held, waiting for one of them to collapse. But neither had fallen. Not yet.
Jayden’s fingers flexed.
Madelaine’s fists clenched.
And then they charged.
The collision this time was thunderous. Breasts slammed together, skin slapping wet and loud, as their nipples crushed point-to-point once more—neither woman flinching. Madelaine growled, a low, feral sound from deep in her throat, and she suddenly shifted right—a vicious nipple rake, from top left of Jayden’s chest to the bottom right.
Jayden’s back arched from the sheer heat of it, but she retaliated instantly—a double upward stab, both nipples driving up under Madelaine’s like dual battering rams. The redhead cried out and staggered, her hands clutching at Jayden’s hips, trying to maintain the contact without toppling.
“NO HANDS, Officially warning for Petsch.”
Madelaine scampered to safety but Jayden surged again.
She dropped her hips, then rose like a phoenix—nipples uppercutting with terrifying precision, over and over into Madelaine’s tender, battered peaks. The sound of it—wet slaps, soft grunts, strained breathing—was almost obscene. She started grinding again, locking her nipples against Madelaine’s and turning, twisting, rotating. Dragging them in circles, X and Z patterns and diagonal rakes.
Madelaine screamed. Her breasts were being rubbed raw and her nipples were retreating.
Jayden saw it—the unraveling—and leaned in harder, pressing chest to chest, their breasts flattened together with nothing between them but fire and hatred. She whispered into Madelaine’s ear, voice like velvet and venom.
“You felt that Red. You were one second from losing. You know I’m stronger here.”
Madelaine's hands trembled and her hands involuntarily shot up and pushed at Jayden's shoulders.
“Get away from me!”
“USE OF HANDS! WARNING #2, PETSCH!”
Jayden took one step forward—just one—and lifted her chest upward then placed them down on the top of Madelaine's buds, using every bit of torque to force Madelaine’s nipples backward and inward.
“ONE!” the ref shouted.
Madelaine’s knees buckled.
“TWO!”
Jayden’s grin widened. She rotated her hips again and spun her shoulders, dragging her nipples in tight, circular motions that drilled into Madelaine’s sensitive flesh.
“THREE!”
Madelaine whimpered—whimpered. Her lips quivered.
“Oh Gawd! Please make her stop!”
“FO—!”
CRACK!
A desperate, wild rake from Madelaine—a full-body twist that caught Jayden’s nipples with just enough bite to break the pin. Jayden hissed and staggered back.
But Madelaine didn’t follow her chest numb. She was breathing like she’d run a marathon, her chest heaving violently. Her nipples were dark red now, swollen and flickering with tremors. Her hands covered them reflexively, briefly, before she forced them back to her sides.
Jayden saw it. The faint shimmer in Madelaine’s eyes wasn’t just sweat—it was the first glint of surrender. The redhead was faltering, and Jayden could feel it in her bones. The tide had turned.
Madelaine came in again, but the fire was gone from her charge. It was slower this time. Sloppy. Desperate, Flat Footed. Jayden braced herself, pivoted slightly, and angled her body just so. As Madelaine drew in close, Jayden dipped her shoulder, then surged upward with precision—her shoulder smashing under Madelaine’s right breast, folding it cruelly against her chest.
Gasps echoed. Kylie and Natalie screamed from ringside, howling foul. But the ref didn’t flinch. No whistle. No mercy.
Madelaine froze mid-step, crumpled slightly forward, her chest flattened and defenseless. Jayden didn’t hesitate, didn't care.
With a dancer’s grace and a predator’s intent, she swung her upper body in a sharp arc—both hardened nipples dragging across Madelaine’s from right to left in a vicious rake. Madelaine whimpered.
Then came the strikes.
One brutal stab.
Then another.
And another—each jab crueler than the last, her sharp tips spearing into the already tender peaks of Madelaine’s breasts.
The redhead gasped, her body recoiling in pain. She staggered sideways, one hand twitching like she wanted to reach for the damage, but knew she couldn’t. Not in front of this crowd. Not now.
Jayden saw her opening—and pounced.
She caught her from the side, driving one nipple into Madelaine’s left, then the other into her right, alternating like jabs from a boxer, snapping side to side. Each impact made Madelaine yelp, her legs crossing slightly as if her body instinctively wanted to fold inward.
“Finish her!” someone screamed from the crowd.
Jayden didn’t wait.
She pressed forward again, chest to chest, but this time instead of circling—she slammed their nipples together, held them, and then poked directly down and in—both stiff, unrelenting peaks targeting Madelaine’s battered areolas like twin spikes.
Madelaine screamed. A high, choking sound.
Jayden pressed harder. Ground in. Her upper body was shaking from the force of it.
“INEVRSION!” the ref shouted.
Madelaine’s eyes were glassy. She blinked wildly, trying to shake free, but her hands didn’t even rise. Her body just stood there, locked and trembling.
“ONE!”
Jayden leaned into her. Their foreheads touched. “Say it. Or I’ll push them into your spine.”
“TWO!”
Madelaine let out a choked sob.
“THREE!”
Her head drooped as she felt her nipples collapsing into her chest.
“Owwwww! No no no!
“FOUR!”
Madelaine’s legs gave out.
“FIVE!”
She fell into Jayden, who let the woozy redhead slide down the front of her sweaty body then gave her with a victorious shove. The redhead crumpled landing on her round butt, hands finally flying up to cover her swollen, brutalized chest. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now. Her breath came in short, sobbing gasps.
The ref turned to Jayden and raised her arm.
“WINNER BY NIPPLE SUBMISSION – JAYDEN BARTELS!!”
The crowd erupted.
Jayden didn’t celebrate right away. She stood over Madelaine, her chest rising, sweat dripping from the tips of her now-dominant nipples. Her body bore the marks of war—raw, scraped, trembling—but she stood tall.
Finally, she crouched beside the broken redhead and whispered, not cruelly, but like a queen speaking to a fallen rival.
“Nice try, Ginger. But you're not like me. Not where it counts.”
Madelaine collapsed fully to her side, curled up, hands still cradling her breasts as the sobs racked her body.
Jayden stood, arms raised, nipples erect in victory.
One round. One woman broken.
And Jayden Bartels reigned supreme.
Round 2:
The moment the bell sounds for Round 2, Madelaine Petsch explodes out of her corner like a cannon shot. Her eyes blaze with fury, the humiliation of Jayden's dominating win in Round 1 clearly boiling in her chest. The redhead is done playing slow and strategic. She's wild now, unchained, and every swing of her firm, freckled B-cups tells the crowd that revenge is priority number one and the cocky Wannabee leader is her number on target.
Jayden Bartels, meanwhile, looks unbothered—even smug. Her tight 28C chest gleams with sweat, every slight bounce mocking Madelaine. She sees her opponent's fury and grins, dancing sideways on light feet, evading Madelaine's initial charge with a grace born from youth and agility and years of dancing on TikTok.
"Aww, you mad, Barbie?" Jayden taunts, her hands behind her back as she dips just out of reach. "That your precious nipples got bent like rubber?"
“Just shut the f$ck up and fight!” screams a flustered Maddy.
Madelaine swings again—a brutal breast smash meant to cave Jayden's chest in. Jayden leans back, pivots, and counters with a sudden uppercut breast strike that clips the underside of Madelaine's right boob, making her wince.
The crowd roars as the round's pace goes from zero to chaos.
Madelaine regains balance and lets fly a massive side-to-side swing, her breasts slamming from left to right. The impact is partially absorbed by Jayden's shoulder as she turns in the strikes, but the force still rocks the younger fighter backward.
"I hate you!" Madelaine snarls, driving forward.
She fakes a jab and then lets loose with a savage double-breast drop, launching her chest forward and slamming her weight down. Jayden stumbles into Madelaine her shoulder bumping into Madelaine's/ She grits her teeth, clearly feeling the punishment.
But Jayden responds fast. Like a threatened mother robin, she feints a stumble, then leaps forward with a rising double-breast uppercut, her 28Cs crushing into Madelaine's ribs and lifting her breasts painfully upward. Madelaine gasps and staggers, one hand covering her chest instinctively.
“NO HANDS!, Warning Petsch!” Bellows the ref.
"That gotcha right in the Barbie bits," Jayden cackles.
“Screw you, Bartels! Just stop talking and fight!” Scolds Madelaine.
Jayden chuckles. “I am fighting and you . . . it sure looks like . . . losing.”
Madelaine's temper gets the best of her and now they're trading. Leaning in, smash for smash. Slap for slap. Chest crashes into chest with brutal, echoing thuds. Madelaine's technique shines through despite her anger—she spins into a spinning back breast smash that flattens Jayden's left boob, driving her sideways into the ropes. But Jayden recovers with a quick spring and delivers a breast jab right to the side that makes Madelaine fall sideways into the ropes.
“You swing heavy, Mads,” Jayden nods, her voice soaked in mockery as she rolls her shoulders, **** bouncing defiantly. “But I bounce harder, ****.”
Madelaine snarls, her chest rising and falling like a piston, rage boiling in her eyes. “Keep flapping that stupid brat mouth. When I’m done pounding your pathetic mosquito bites into paste, we’ll see who’s still got rhythm.”
Jayden doesn’t hesitate—she lunges in, shoulder rolling into a vicious series of side-swings, her breasts like twin hammers whipping into Madelaine’s upper chest with brutal, echoing slaps. Flesh slaps flesh, sweat sprays, and Madelaine’s body jerks with each hit.
But she grits her teeth and takes it—then twists, letting out a guttural grunt, and drives forward with a savage, all-in breast smash that slams into Jayden like a freight train. It lands dead center, bone-jarring, flesh-flattening.
Jayden’s mouth twists in agony, her chest visibly caving under the brutal impact. She crashes down, one knee barely bouncing off the mat as she gasps for air.
The crowd erupts—half in shock, half in triumph.
“That's a KNOCKDOWN!” Kylie Jenner shrieks from ringside, slamming her hand on the apron. Natalie Alyn Lind is already on her feet, pointing furiously at the ref.
But Jayden snarls through the pain, teeth bared as she shoves herself upright, spitting on the mat as she rises.
“Not today, Barbie,” she growls, standing tall again.
The ref spins around, voice sharp. “NO KNOCKDOWN! CONTINUE!”
Kylie throws her hands up. “Her damn knee hit the mat!”
Natalie is fuming, barking at the officials—but the ref ignores them, laser-focused on the fighters.
Jayden’s eyes narrow. She fakes a left swing, baiting Madelaine, then spins into a blistering combo—breast jab, breast jab, and then a savage breast uppercut that detonates beneath Madelaine’s chest, lifting her clear off the mat.
The redhead crashes into the ropes, gasping and clutching at her breasts—both of them turning a deep, angry red, visibly swelling from the relentless punishment.
The ref jumps between them, throwing a hand out.
“WARNING NUMBER TWO, NO HANDS, PETSCH!”
Madelaine glares, snarling, chest heaving with labored breath as the ref turns to the officials, confirming the warning. She doesn’t even pretend to hide the hatred in her eyes when the ref steps back to her.
“One more, and you lose the round.”
Madelaine doesn’t say a word. She just locks eyes with Jayden—like a predator promising pain.
But Jayden isn’t backing down. In fact, she doubles down.
She cups her own breasts, hoisting them up with both hands, smirking with venom as she bounces them tauntingly, eyes locked on Madelaine. “These **** just sent you flying, ****. Better start praying I don’t flip both your nips inside out before the bell.”
Madelaine lunges like a feral animal, but the ref steps in, blocking her path with a firm arm.
For a heartbeat, everything hangs in the air.
The tension? Nuclear.
The hate? Toxic. Volcanic. Uncontainable.
Neither one’s walking out of this round without blood, broken skin, and shredded pride.
Madelaine snarls like she’s ready to kill, then charges again with no hesitation, this time playing it smart. She fakes a brutal double swing—her breasts rising like wrecking balls—then ducks Jayden’s twitch-counter, a trap perfectly laid. In one sickening move, she plows her entire upper body into Jayden’s chest, ramming through like a missile.
Jayden’s feet leave the mat, her back slamming into the ropes with a hard THWACK.
But the momentum throws her back in motion, and she rebounds with fury—only to run straight into Madelaine’s trap.
Mads sidesteps like a matador, snarling, and sweeps a leg out with perfect timing.
Jayden trips hard, hitting the mat back-first, sliding across the canvas, her breasts bouncing wildly from the sheer violence of the fall. It’s a visceral, humiliating moment—flesh shaking, hair in her face, mouth open in shock.
Darci screams from the corner. “That's a trip! 3rd strike! 3rd strike!”
The ref ignores the alleged foul. “FIGHT ON!”
But the ref hesitates, caught between indecision and the stunned gasps from the crowd. The arena is a cauldron of chaos.
Jayden grits her teeth, snarling as she rolls onto her side, planting a hand and shoving herself to her feet with a growl.
"Cheap f*in’ shot, Mads,**" Jayden spits, chest heaving, voice raw. "But I’m still standing."
Madelaine’s grin is pure evil. Her body glistens with sweat, her nipples stiff from the adrenaline and abuse. “Not for long, ****. I’m just getting warmed up.”
Then everything explodes.
Jayden lets out a primal scream and charges like a demon, flinging herself forward with zero hesitation—a full-body, all-in breast smash that could level a wall.
Madelaine sees it coming—and she steps in with it, neither woman backing off. They collide mid-ring, tit-to-tit, chest-to-chest, like two freight trains slamming together. The sound is wet, thick, brutal—a slap that echoes in bones.
Both stagger back, dazed, sweat flying from their bodies.
Madelaine shakes it off first and snarls like a beast. She lunges, driving her leg forward, her knee punching into Jayden’s upper inner thigh like a spear, digging deep into toned flesh.
Jayden doubles over, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent gasp, all the air ripped from her lungs. She stumbles, clutching her groin.
Madelaine doesn’t wait.
She sees her shot—and takes it.
"You’re gonna regret those cheap shots, wh0re!" Jayden hissed.
“Cheat, me?” Now it Madelaine cackles who shoulders Jayden onto the corner and sends her chest forward with a brutal breast smash.
Jayden grunted as the impact hit her like a bus. She bounced off the ropes then spun, trying to use her speed to circle, but Madelaine was on her, smashing into her again and again, breast-to-breast, SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The thud of each impact echoing in the packed arena.
"Run now! You can’t cheat your way through this!"
Another crushing smash landed flush. Jayden gasped and stumbled. Her back brushed the ropes, her footing slipping—any further and she’d hit the mat. Her eyes widened in panic.
Madelaine wound up for a big one. A side-to-side swing followed by a breast uppercut that crashed into Jayden’s sternum with a sickening sound. Jayden doubled over slightly, chest quivering from the assault, her face twisted in pain.
The Barbies and Wicked Queens were screaming at the edge of the ring, stomping the floor, yelling for the ref to watch Madelaine finish it. Jayden was seconds from going down.
"Drop, cheater! Let everyone see you break!" Madelaine taunted, pulling back for one final breast drop.
Jayden saw it coming. Desperation flickered across her face, but she dropped into a squat, letting Madelaine's heavy drop swing harmlessly over. Before Madelaine could recover, Jayden launched a savage counter—a snapping breast jab that smacked into Madelaine's left orb and flattened it against her ribcage.
Madelaine grunted and recoiled—a mistake. Jayden surged up, landing a brutal uppercut that caught both of Madelaine’s breasts, lifting them upward into her own face. The redhead reeled back, stunned. Jayden pressed in, swinging wildly now.
"Still think I need to cheat to beat your soft t!ts?!"
Smash. Smash. Breast swings from both sides. Madelaine fired back. Their chests collided in chaos. Echoes of flesh hitting flesh roared across the ring as both women grunted, moaned, and screamed, their breasts turning redder with every slap, impact, and grind.
Jayden managed a full twist and slammed her chest into Madelaine’s with a wild spinning breast smash. Madelaine flew backward, catching herself on the ropes. Her arms dropped slightly.
Jayden surged again. Another heavy breast uppercut sent Madelaine bouncing off the ropes. This time, Jayden didn’t let up. She pivoted and slammed into her again, again, her smaller, faster chest pounding into Madelaine’s larger one with surgical precision.
Madelaine groaned, sagging slightly. Jayden smelled blood.
"Your **** are done, Barbie! One more hit!"
Jayden crouched, breathing heavy, her chest bruised and swelling as Madelaine teetered back and forth her legs barely holding her weight. Jayden sprang up, launching a final breast uppercut that connected perfectly. Madelaine’s chest jolted upward smacking into her face, her body arching back—then her heel slipped.
Her shoulder hit the mat. The crowd exploded.
The ref dove in, arms waving. "KNOCKDOWN! KO! KO! THE ROUND AND THE FIGHT IS OVER!"
Jayden stumbled back, panting, chest heaving, sweat and pain written across her flushed face. She raised her arms, a crooked grin spreading across her lips.
Madelaine, on her back, fists clenched in fury, kicked at the mat throwing a tantrum.
The Barbies were shouting, furious.
"She got lucky! That was a fluke!"
"Ref, you need glasses! Madelaine had her and you let it go!"
The Wicked Queens weren’t much quieter, yelling about bias and illegal moves—but the rules were clear. Any part of the body hits the mat, and the round ends. Jayden had survived the storm, fought back from the brink, and scored a clean, rule-bound knockdown.
Jayden leaned over the ropes, sneering down at the crowd.
"That’s two rounds for me and ZERO for the cheater, huh?"
She blew a mocking kiss toward Madelaine, who sat up slowly, red hair stuck to her face with sweat, her raw exposed chest pulsing with every breath—and eyes full of hate. She fought hard giving it everything she had and despite some unsavory moves was not able to beat the Wannabe leader.
Post Fight:
The moment the final bell rang, Jayden Bartels stood tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, arms raised in exhausted triumph. The crowd roared—not entirely in support, but in awe of the stunning back-and-forth battle that had just ended with Madelaine Petsch flat on her back, one leg awkwardly curled, lips parted in shock, her red hair splayed across the mat.
She had fought her heart out but she had lost and put her team in a precarious hole having to win the next two fights or face the embarrassment of losing a breast battle to the clearly smaller Wannabees.
And now Jayden—bruised, battered, yet undeniably victorious—had five uninterrupted minutes to make a statement.
The referee stepped aside, making no move to stop what came next. The crowd began to chant, a mix of encouragement and eager anticipation. Jayden’s eyes locked on Madelaine, who groaned and tried to sit up, dazed and blinking.
Jayden knelt beside her rival. "You still with us, flame-top?" she asked, brushing sweaty hair from Madelaine’s face with mock tenderness. "Guess what? You’re not done but you will be soon enough."
With a sharp tug, she yanked Madelaine up by the waistband of her panties, dragging her halfway upright. The redhead winced, biting her lip in pain and embarrassment.
“On your knees.”
Madelaine hesitated—her pride, even broken and battered, still clinging to the last threads of defiance.
Jayden didn’t wait. A cruel smirk curling on her lips, she stepped forward and shoved Madelaine with her foot. The redhead collapsed to her knees with a heavy thud, eyes brimming with rage and shame. Her body was flushed, bruised, and her chest was heaving with pain—not from exertion anymore, but humiliation.
The crowd watched in rapt silence. Phones were out. Livestreams were buzzing. The moment was going viral in real time.
Jayden began circling her defeated foe, hands on her hips, cocky and confident as ever. “Tell everyone whose chest owns yours.”
Madelaine turned her head away.
Wrong move.
Jayden grabbed a fistful of Madelaine’s fiery red hair and yanked her head back hard, forcing her to look up. “Say it, or I’ll make you wish you had.”
The defiance in Madelaine’s eyes flickered—then ****.
“…Yours,” she muttered.
Jayden arched a brow. “Louder.”
Madelaine swallowed, lips trembling. “Your chest… owns mine.”
A wicked smile bloomed across Jayden’s face. She dropped to one knee in front of the redhead, her breath hot and smug. “And what are you?”
Madelaine could barely meet her gaze now. “A… humiliated loser.”
Jayden leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for the front row to hear. “Good girl.”
She stood up and yanked Madelaine to her feet, only to spin her around and crack her across the ass with a sharp, open-handed slap that echoed through the arena. The crowd erupted—some jeering, others cheering, but everyone watching.
“Every inch of you,” Jayden purred, fingers trailing down Madelaine’s spine, “belongs to me for the next few minutes. Let’s make them unforgettable.”
Jayden didn’t wait. She grabbed Madelaine by the waistband of her shorts and yanked them down in one swift motion, exposing the pale curve of the redhead’s ass to the entire arena. The crowd howled. Madelaine whimpered, her hands instinctively trying to cover herself—Jayden slapped them away.
“No hiding,” she barked. “You lost. You show everyone exactly what defeat looks like.”
Jayden knelt, balled up Madelaine’s panties, and shoved them deep into her mouth.
“There,” she cooed. “Now you can’t even talk back. Just kneel there and take it like a woman.”
She dragged Madelaine across the canvas by her hair again, forcing the redhead to crawl with her panties stuffed between her lips, stripped, beaten, and gagged. The cameras followed, zooming in on the trail of sweat and tears.
Jayden sat against the ropes and pulled Madelaine in by the hair again—this time into a brutal breast smother. She yanked Madelaine’s face straight into her sore, sweat-slicked cleavage and locked her arms tight around her skull.
“You’re gonna breathe my victory,” Jayden hissed in her ear. “And smell your defeat.”
Madelaine’s legs twitched. Her fingers clawed at Jayden’s arms weakly. Her body sagged further as oxygen disappeared from her world.
Jayden let her gasp for air only briefly—long enough to yank her upright and slap her breasts twice, hard, laughing as the redhead squealed into her gag.
“Whose rack wins? Say it!”
Madelaine, eyes glassy, mumbled something unintelligible through the panties. Jayden grabbed a microphone.
“Everyone listen up!” she shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “The Wannabees now lead you big-tit Barbie **** and Wicked Queen has-beens 3 to 2! That’s right—we’re kicking your proud, silicone-filled asses with our firm, natural, young racks!”
She pointed down at Madelaine. “THIS is what happens when your fake boobs meet the real thing. You break. You kneel. You submit.”
Cheers erupted from the Wannabees section, while the Barbies and Wicked Queens fumed from their corner, shouting at the officials. But the rules were clear—Jayden earned this.
She wasn’t done.
Jayden pulled Madelaine upright and dragged her to the center of the ring. She yanked the panties from her mouth and held them high before tucking them into her bra. Trophy number one.
Next came the ultimate degradation.
Jayden forced Madelaine down flat on her back, then straddled her face in a dominant, punishing face sit. The crowd gasped, then roared. Jayden adjusted herself until Madelaine’s nose disappeared beneath her crotch and her lips pressed against Jayden’s sweaty skin.
“Shhh,” Jayden cooed mockingly. “Just go to sleep. It’s the only way this ends for a humiliated loser.”
Madelaine squirmed—but there was no strength left in her body. Her muffled gasps slowed. Her arms dropped. Her legs twitched once more—and then went still.
Jayden stood tall, her chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and victory. She raised her arms high as the crowd roared.
Jayden drove her foot down between Madelaine’s shoulder blades, pinning her in place like the conquered prey she was. Her gaze cut through the arena until it locked with Kylie Jenner’s seething stare across the ring.
Jayden smirked, venom curling her lips.
“Three-two,” she spat. “And we’re just getting warmed up.”
She leaned forward, voice laced with cruel sarcasm.
“Maybe Vegas should fire their odds-makers. Underdogs in every fight... and we’re about to win five out of seven. Hope you Barbies and Wicked Queens enjoy the view—'cause this is what real dominance looks like.”
Jayden raised the mic, letting the noise settle just enough. Her eyes scanned the stunned audience—half gasping in awe, half wide-eyed in disbelief. She took a moment to soak it in.
“Did you see that?” she said, her voice amplified through the arena. “Did everyone just witness what the hell happened here tonight?”
She kicked at Madelaine’s still form gently, rolling her over with her foot. “This right here?” Jayden gestured down at the broken, red-faced, half-conscious Barbie curled up on the mat. “This is what happens when you come at a Wannabee thinking your big plastic **** mean something.”
The crowd popped, laughter, gasps, and scattered cheers beginning to surge.
“Madelaine Petsch strutted into this ring with her pale, freckled, phony queen energy. Thought she’d put us in our place. Thought I’d bow down to these,” Jayden said, nudging Madelaine’s exposed chest with her toes, “like the rest of Hollywood does. But guess what?”
She leaned into the camera now, grinning.
“I made her **** tap out. Twice!”
The crowd exploded.
“And now?” Jayden’s eyes lit with fire. “Now the score is three-two. That’s right. The Wannabees are leading the Barbies and Wicked Queens. Not just leading—humiliating them.”
The Wannabees' section began to rise. Chanting. Clapping. “Wanna-BEES! Wanna-BEES!”
Jayden’s smile widened. “Y’all hear that? That’s momentum. That’s dominance. That’s reality slapping you silicone-hardened **** right across the chest!”
She pointed toward the Barbie section. Kylie Jenner, arms folded, lips curled. Madison Beer, seething. Sydney Sweeney, stone-faced. Natalie Alyn Lind, fuming.
“Let’s talk about why this is happening,” Jayden continued. “It’s not luck. It’s not cheap shots. And it’s not because we’re dirty. It’s because we’re better. Better trained. Better conditioned. And yeah…” She gave the camera a wink, “…our breasts are smaller, firmer, and real. These chest-to-chest showdowns? We dominate. We crush. We own.”
Another pop from the crowd. The Wannabee chant grew louder, rolling through the arena like a thunderstorm.
“I want everyone to look at what just happened to Madelaine,” Jayden continued, walking the ring slowly like a queen addressing her subjects. “Because I didn’t just beat her. I stripped her. Smothered her. Slapped her. Broke her. Owned her. And she couldn’t do a **** thing about it.”
She held up Madelaine’s panties and bra, swinging them like victory flags. “Two trophies. One Barbie. All mine.”
Jayden paused at the ropes, pointing to Natalie and Sydney.
“And now? Let’s talk about the next two lambs lined up for slaughter.”
Jayden climbed the middle rope like a conquering queen, towering above the wreckage of Madelaine. Her lip curled into a sneer as she turned her glare toward the Barbies’ side of the arena.
“Natalie Alyn Lind,” she spat the name like poison. “America’s blonde bombshell, huh? Please. Let’s call it what it really is—Hollywood’s most overhyped pair of ****. You've built an entire career off your chest—no talent, no grit, just ****. You've been riding those silicone-coated airbags since you were sixteen, using them like backstage passes to roles you were never good enough to earn.”
She raised an eyebrow, mocking her prey with icy precision.
“Let's be real, you're only 25 and your **** sage more than Lindsay Lohan. Just being real here, Nat's. But guess what, sweetheart? Your little milkmaid fantasy ends the second you step into the ring with Madisyn Shipman. We’ve been saving her. Keeping her sharp. Letting the rest of you tire yourselves out before we unleash the real pain.”
Jayden’s voice dropped, cruel and cold.
“Madisyn is built like a damn weapon. She’s tighter, tougher, and ten times meaner than you could ever hope to be. And those soft, sagging distractions you call boobs? Madisyn will rip through them like paper. Her **** are pure steel. Her nipples? Weapons-grade. You’ll be choking on them before you even know what hit you.”
The crowd was roaring now, eating up every brutal word, the “Wanna-BEES!” chant swelling with renewed fury.
Jayden turned slowly now, facing the camera, her face lit with malice.
“And as for Sydney Sweeney…” She practically purred the name, dripping with contempt. “If you think those cartoonish beach balls strapped to your chest are gonna save you, think again. That Barbie fantasy you’ve been selling? It ends in the ring. You’re not the ‘It Girl’ anymore, Sydney. You’re just next.”
Jayden walked to the corner, pointing directly at Francesca Capaldi in the crowd, her red hair blazing like fire, her breasts standing tall defying gravity.
“Meet your executioner: Francesca Capaldi. You might’ve heard the nickname—The Barbie Killer. She’s not just coming for your crown, Sydney… she’s coming to erase you. You won’t just lose. You’ll get flattened, humiliated, and forgotten. You’re not walking away from this fight. You're crawling—if you're lucky and if Fran has her way you'll be leaving t!ts up on a stretcher.”
Jayden stepped down from the ropes, taking one last slow look at the camera.
“So go ahead, Sydney. Post your cute selfies. Put on your best push up bra and put your **** on display while you still can. Because after Capaldi's done with you? You’ll need to post a damn obituary for your career. This may be the last time anyone sees you post another annoying pic of your over-rated cleavage.”
And with that, Jayden dropped the mic, arms spread wide, as the thunderous chant echoed from every corner of the arena.
“WANNA-BEES! WANNA-BEES!”
The Barbies were shook. The crowd was converted. And the war had officially turned.
The slaughter had only just begun.
The Wannabees 3 – Th Badass Barbies - Wicked Queens 2
Written by the Badass Barbies