Gwendolyn DuPont Bettencourt vs. Sheila Morgan - A Voice Unheard

[BlackAkuma]

Match Type: Hardcore Hentai
Victory Condition: Victory can only be obtained by pinfall, submission or KO, after giving your opponent an orgasm. No count-outs, no disqualifications, anything goes.

***

Sheila swore she did not hate rich people. Not in general, anyway.

That didn’t mean she particularly liked them, either. Growing up, she’d had precious few interactions with the ‘upper class’. They’d honestly never been much of a factor in her life. They’d always been over there, of somewhere, part of communities she knew and cared nothing about. She’d grown up in the sticks and the bush, in places where you could drive for hours before you hit a paved road. The rich shit might as well have been on fuckign Mars for all she cared.

And yet, somehow, she kept getting put up against extremely well-to-do bitches. And yet, she was starting to get traction as some kind of ‘Fuck The Rich’ superhero.

Sheila barely had any online presence. She mostly just used the internet to order food and the occasional item she needed, and maybe watch a movie every now and then when she had nothing better to do. She’d gone her whole life avoiding Twitter and Myspace and whatever Flavor of the Month thing happened to be popular at the moment, and as near as she could tell, that was one of the best decisions she’d ever made. But as she was also learning, not signing up for internet shit didn’t mean you couldn't be involved in internet shit. After two instances of her taking on and having dirty, drag-out fights with blue bloods, there was apparently some kind of anti-corpo movement latching onto her as a mascot.

LAW management latched onto it, putting her on a few t-shirts and showing a cartoon of her bashing a non-copyright-infringing version of the Monopoly guy. People were doing weird cosplays of her, male and female. She even had a Reddit page with a bunch of memes.

Sheila wasn’t even sure what Reddit and memes were.

It was all just weird, and she didn’t know how to process. Not when she’d been made aware of it and not now, as she made her way down to the ring for her next match - against, surprise, another rich woman.

made her way out from behind the curtain, hands in her pockets, strolling down the ramp as

[media][/media]

blared out from behind her. She was highly cognizant of the larger-than-usual reaction she got along the way, too, with some of the more hardcore fans getting particularly amped up. Weird thing. She’d never been too popular, never cared all that much, but this…

”Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!”

”Fuck it.” Sheila reached under the ring, gripped a chair, slid into the ring and raised it high as she marched about, getting a raucous cry from the crowd and feeling every bit like a Gladiator in the arena. If this was fate, she might as well lean into it. Have some fun.

”Oy oy oy!”

[killcarrion]

Swarms of frilly-skirted maids and tuxedoed servants would be milling about certain palatial backstage accommodations in feverish preparation for the rather unorthodox usage of their beloved employer's wrestling acumen. Servantry trimming her fingernails, spritzing her with perfume, ensuring immaculate fluff to her flaxen ringlets. Except the typical pageantry encompassing Gwendolyn's beautification would be accompanied by several handlers blathering through smart phones with ineffective attempts at assuaging the anxiety of shareholders whose fiscal investments hinged upon the shoulders of an opulent heiress apparently gallivanting straight into the metaphorical lion's den. Questioning her sanity coming with stern rebukes and earnest reminders that stock prices have naught but skyrocketed underneath the blueblood's leadership, moreso once reaping the rewards of her celebrity prominence as an Imperial Wrestling Savant. But who's nevertheless venturing into unknown territory with match stipulations as antithetical to Gwendolyn's norm as feasibly possible. One swathed in debauched depravity and barbaric brutality the likes of which the Imperious Blueblood had yet to become christened within...and yet the mass bedlam unfolding within her luxurious locker-room could not have served as a more diametric contrast to the serene state of calm and boundless confidence as its cornerstone foundation. Delving into the unknown having practically commonplace ever since she inscribed her cursive signature upon LAW's contract, and the boons have become quite immeasurable. And visionaries such as herself thought little of the minute repercussions of their fated ventures.

G.D.B.

Gwendolyn having long since donned her figure fitting wrestling attire that hugged every sublime curvature of her perfect frame with airtight coverage, now poshly sitting cross-legged in her styling chair with a soothing hum to her satin lips thanks to the divine tea served beforehand, but bidding her concerned accompaniment adieu as she departed her opulent surroundings in favor of the shadowed abyss blanketed behind the entrance curtains. The arena becoming illuminated in a palette of blue and gold from the stadiums internal lighting as her royal

heralded the snooty highborns illustrious entrance. Soon afterward striding outside clad in her frilly blue and gold outfit that clung tightly to every curvaceous contour of her flawless physique and accompanied by several track-suited attendants. The snobbish sophisticate adorned in a resplendently sparkling robe, arms extended to her sides as if allowing the teeming rabble around here the privilege of basking in the presence of premier wrestling royalty of this or any other generation. Exuding smug superiority with every prim and poised step taking her down the metallic ramp, with a disdainful scowl and shooing flick of her fingers towards the booing riffraff, but eventually entering inside the ring itself via a gap in the rope widened by her employees. Those same attendants granted the honor of disrobing Gwendolyn from behind and scurrying out of the ring afterwards, a passive fluff to her ringlets as she approached her adversary in the middle of the ring. "Gwendolyn Dupont Bettencourt~...The pleasure is all yours, I'm sure. However, please do refrain from conjuring up some childish abbreviation in some misguided attempt at exasperating my patience. It belittles us both..."

G.D.B.

[BlackAkuma]

For once, Sheila wasn’t going into this blind.

That wasn’t to say she’d done something crazy, like actually looking up information about her opponent to prepare for a match, of course. Who would do something weird like that? But she had heard about Gwen in a magazine she’d read a couple of years back while waiting to be seen in an emergency room. She didn’t recall the specifics to a T, but the broad details stuck with her - the heiress to some big fortune; her parents were the bigwigs of the Primol group, some supercompany with its hands in a lot of pies. Crazy stuff, frankly above her head, but the gist was that Gwen was stupid rich.

That painted a picture in her mind, and when the woman herself came out, along with her servants/employees/wageslaves, she learned the picture wasn’t too far off.

It was impossible not to compare her to Laxia, the other elite she’d locked horns with recently. Laxia, bitch that she was, came off a little more grounded than the lady making her way to the ring now, a little less willing to flaunt her wealth. She seemed to at least want to come off as a normal person to someone who didn’t know better.

Gwennie, on the other hand, seemed to embrace the whole perception, leaning all the way into it, basking in. Sheila wasn’t sure if it was an act or what, but either way, it was…a lot. She couldn't help but stand there, blinking, as the woman introduced herself in grand fashion. Not quite sure how to take it.

But this was a hardcore match. Hardcore hentai, in fact. Which meant that things were destined to go a certain way. Why not cut to the chase?

Sheila smirked, stepped in, wrapped an arm around Gwen’s waist, and pulled her in for a hot, steaming kiss, holding her like a long-lost lover and pressing their lips together with raw, wanton hunger.