The Book of Lucia, Chapter III - Sister Lucia (c) vs. Madeline Christiansen for the LAW Hentai Championshp

[BlackAkuma]

Oh, this woman with her little jibes and jokes. Cocky, arrogant, stuffy, little… ”Mmmmmmmm!”

Sister Lucia’s primal roar of rage would’ve certainly sounded more intimidating if she didn’t have a mouthful of breasts to deal with, but she made the noise anyway, wanting her foe to know exactly how much wrath she was incurring at the moment. To be honest, there were moves she would’ve hated being in even more than this, but few would’ve been more degrading, especially with the woman’s joke about ‘milk’. She could hear a few people in the crowd snickering, too, though she imaged most of the were having a far more erotic reaction to her current situation.

The thought churned her stomach. She was the hentai champion, not Madeline. She should’ve been the one on top, dominating the brunette. She would get to that point, too, but first she had to do something about these breasts.

These soft, pliable breasts.

Warm, supple breasts.

These breasts that fit so neatly into her mouth.

Without thinking, Sister Lucia’s tongue began to glide over the hot skin, enjoying the taste, before she regained her senses. Trickery, a lapse of the mind brought on by oxygen deprivation. She needed to get out of this hold, but leverage was against her, weight was against her, and then the hold grew so much worse.

Sister Lucia let out a muffled shriek as Madeline adjusted her hold, wrapping her legs around her in a cruel variation that twisted her limbs and stretched her out, as well as keeping her trapped in the pillowy prison. While she could not lose this match with a knockout, she knew that going to sleep could lead to her waking up with an orgasm, tied up, and one less title. She was running out of air…

…but not out of ideas.

Sister Lucia’s struggles became slower, weaker, less insistent, as strength seemed to flee her body. She nuzzled against the woman beneath, sluggishly turning her head from side to side, as if she might chance upon a spare breath of air. None came, and she withered in the English Rose’s grasp, as the referee cautiously gazed over them. After one, final, defiant twitch, her entire body gave out, leaving her limp in the challenger’s grasp.

[Lightman]

Despite appearances, the breast smother itself was entirely legitimate. Madeline had learned that years ago, during her time competing in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, when an older practitioner with a wicked sense of humour had first introduced her to the technique. Mother’s Milk, they had called it with a grin that earned more than a few groans around the gym. Suggestive in presentation, but brutally effective when applied correctly. It was not a staple of her arsenal, nor something she employed often in competition, yet there were moments where the opportunity presented itself too perfectly to ignore.

This had become one of those moments. Madeline’s breathing remained slow and measured as she maintained the crushing embrace. Her posture remained upright and composed, every ounce of pressure intentional. Lucia writhed beneath her, but each frantic movement only reinforced how decisively the balance of the match had shifted.

The difference between them was impossible to miss now. Madeline’s heartbeat remained calm and steady against Lucia’s face, controlled even amidst exertion, while the champion’s struggles had become increasingly frantic. Crimson coloured Lucia’s exposed features, indignation and effort twisting together as she fought against a position that offered no real escape.

The Rosette Blush was doing precisely what it had been designed to do.

Madeline could feel the weakening resistance through her thighs and arms alike. Lucia bucked and twisted, trying desperately to create space where none existed, but superior positioning and leverage rendered the attempts meaningless. The more she fought, the deeper she sank into the hold’s suffocating control.

There was something deeply ironic about the sight before her. The woman who claimed divine favour, who spoke of crusades and righteous conquest, was now trapped between a pair of breasts struggling merely to breathe. Madeline almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Almost.

Then she felt it. That wet, lingering flick of Lucia’s tongue against her skin. Madeline’s brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering through her emerald gaze. “Careful…” she murmured softly, a stark contrast to how tight that grip is. “…People may begin to question who is truly enjoying this.”

Gradually, Lucia’s movements began to fade. The furious resistance dulled into sluggish twitching. Her body sagged more heavily against Madeline’s grasp, breaths becoming increasingly shallow and uneven beneath the relentless pressure. Madeline recognised the signs immediately. An unconscious Lucia would not secure victory outright, but it would grant opportunities. Vulnerabilities. A champion deprived of awareness was a champion dangerously close to disaster.

Still, Madeline was not reckless. She held the position for only a few moments longer, ensuring Lucia fully experienced the helplessness of it before finally loosening her grip. The pressure eased first from her thighs, then from the imprisoning embrace above. Lucia’s body dropped limply onto the canvas beneath her.

Madeline rose in one smooth motion, unfolding gracefully to her full height while the blonde sprawled at her feet. For a moment, she simply stood there looking down upon the once proud champion, calm and statuesque beneath the arena lights.

Then she placed a foot lightly against Lucia’s cheek. A gentle nudge.

“Come now.” Madeline said coolly. “Surely your faith can survive a little adversity.” Her foot tilted Lucia’s face slightly toward her, emerald eyes studying the dazed expression beneath with composed interest.

[BlackAkuma]

It might have been hard to picture, but at one point, Sister Lucia had been what most would call a ‘theatre kid’. Mostly in high school. She had been an atypical child in many ways - sullen, broody, a bully, prone to rash acts, and easily provoked. But she had found solace on the stage, and one of the proudest moments of her early life had been scoring the role of Maria in the Sound of Music. She had the vocals for singing and the agility for dancing, so she needed little instruction in those areas.

But what she did best - better than even she had expected - was the acting. It came naturally to her. Slipping into a role and portraying that for all the world. It suited her well, this play, and it was a skill that had served her repeatedly in her time as a wrestler before her conversion, giving her a larger-than-life personality for the world to see.

And it served her again, now. It was not an easy thing to feign unconsciousness when you were on the verge of experiencing it for real, but Sister Lucia pulled through with a worthwhile performance. She rationed what little air she had left and went still earlier than she had to, giving off weakness. She threw in all the telltale signs of a fading body, ones she had learned from her own victims. The twitching, the fading struggles, the whimpers.

All while true sleep began to creep across. All to make Madeline release her just a little bit earlier than she should’ve.

The possum act did its job. She kept her eyes closed as Madeline finally brought her hellish move to an end. The legs unclasped, the pressure abated, and those bulbous breasts came away from her face. Her body, craved for oxygen, reflexively sucked in so much through her nostrils that it made her nose hurt, but Sister Lucia remained still, otherwise. Helpless as a babe. Knocked out. Overwhelmed.

Patience, patience. Sister Lucia could not see Madeline, but oh, did this woman love to milk the moment. Were the positions reversed, she would’ve been scrambling for the ropes, but the Briton was basking in the moment. She was close, so close. Lucia knew exactly where, when she felt that soft, supple foot on her face, and the woman spoke, throwing out taunts to ears that shouldn’t have been able to hear them. This woman did love to talk, did she not?

Now.

Sister Lucia’s eyes shot wide with a manic grin, and she reached up to seize Madeline’s ankle, pulling it tight under her shoulder and securing it with her arm. At the same time, she brought her leg up and let it fly in an arc to kick Madeline in the back, trying to make her lurch forward while she rolled off her shoulders. If all worked to plan, her bigger foe would topple to her chest while Sister Lucia came out on top with her leg secured, reversing the situation in an instant.

[Lightman]

Maria Alvarez.

Years ago, before Madeline had ever stepped foot into LAW, there had been another wrestler who built an entire reputation around suffocating arrogance out of her opponents. Voluptuous, exotic, almost offensively beautiful beneath the arena lights. She possessed the sort of figure that seemed engineered specifically to ruin careers and attention spans alike, and she weaponised every inch of it. Her signature hold, The Last Meal, had become infamous across several promotions. One breast alone had been enough to bury an opponent’s face completely while the crowd roared in scandalised delight. More than one poor woman had ended up unconscious with Maria’s nipple practically shoved down her throat, Maria pressing her advantage with cruel theatricality until the poor soul beneath her slipped into darkness.

Madeline remembered one match in particular. Jessica Vale had been the company’s resident menace at the time, a smug heel who delighted in humiliating younger wrestlers. The audience had relished seeing her trapped beneath Maria’s chest, kicking weakly before finally going limp. Maria had basked in the cheers afterwards, standing over her conquered foe with all the confidence of a woman already celebrating victory.

Then Jessica opened her eyes and kicked her straight between the legs. The entire match unravelled from there.

At the time, a young Madeline had laughed herself breathless watching it. A lesson in complacency wrapped in humiliation. Funny how memories resurface at moments like these. To think, after all those years, she now found herself facing something similar.

Which was precisely why, even now, she had intended to check Lucia properly before moving further. There were countless possibilities available to her from this position. Submissions. Pins. More humiliating methods of control. Lucia’s smaller frame offered opportunities that a grappler of Madeline’s calibre could exploit endlessly once momentum truly settled in her favour.

Unfortunately, Lucia proved just convincing enough, and Madeline felt the shift a split second too late.

Blue eyes snapped open beneath her with manic intensity as slender arms suddenly wrapped around her ankle. The grip locked tightly beneath Lucia’s shoulder before Madeline could fully retract her leg, and in the same instant, a sharp impact struck against her back.

The kick forced her balance forward. Madeline reacted on instinct alone; her training saved her from collapsing face-first into the mat. Her forearms shot downward to catch herself while her chest followed after, the canvas thudding beneath her as Lucia rolled through the reversal beneath and beside her.

The surprise itself irritated her far more than the impact. The crowd erupted at the sudden shift, shocked murmurs giving way to renewed noise as the champion sprang back to life beneath her. Moments ago, Lucia had looked utterly broken beneath the Rosette Blush. Now the woman clung stubbornly to Madeline’s leg like a zealot refusing execution.

[BlackAkuma]

”Acting! Ha!”

The ring filled with the sound of Sister Lucia made giggles, as she abruptly turned the tables on the technician. Her ruse worked perfectly, perhaps even better than she could’ve hoped, as she brought her foe flopping forward onto her front and secured her leg in the process, taking a superior position.

As sweet as that was, however, none of it compared to the look in Madeline’s eyes when Sister Lucia looked up at her. The shock, the surprise, as the realization hit of what was about to happen, and how helpless she was to stop it. Oh, Sister Lucia wished she could’ve lived in that moment for days. It would give her comfort for years to come.

In the present, however, important decisions had to be made. While she had taken control, there was no ignoring how effective Madeline had been. The woman could’ve knocked her out there, and the match would’ve very well fallen apart for Sister Lucia. There was another world where she was being tied up right now after an orgasm, with the title slipping through her fingers. She needed to ensure that would never be this world.

More importantly, she needed a rest. As much as she wanted to go back to kicking Madeline about the ring, those submission holds had been draining. It was imperative that she find her wind again, while taking away her opponent’s.

The right move came to her in the next moment. She took the woman’s ankle and trapped it between her thighs, securing it tight. From there, she fell onto Madeline’s broad back, laying along her spine, and reached up to wrap an arm around her throat, looking to secure an STS - a Stepover Toehold Sleeper.

Well, half of one, at any rate. Instead of using both arms to choke Madeline, she only recruited one. She would lack the force to truly put her opponent to sleep that way, but that was fine - she had better things to do with her other hand, and she wanted Madeline aware for them, anyway.

”So proud of these breasts, aren’t you, whore?” Her whispers, dark and dusky, poured into Madeline’s ear. ”Let’s give the world a better look, shall we?”

Sister Lucia’s spare hand reached around, pulled at Madeline’s top, and tried to pull out one of her breasts enough to expose her nipple to the fresh air, where she could give them a good, rough groping, feverishly squeezing and prodding at the tender flesh.

[Lightman]

A low exhale slipped from Madeline as emerald eyes narrowed, annoyance briefly flickering across her otherwise composed expression. Clever. The little zealot had baited her properly there. Feigning unconsciousness while starved for air could not have been easy, which only made the deception more deliberate in Madeline’s eyes. A calculated little performance from a woman who clearly adored theatrics almost as much as she adored hearing herself speak.

Even partially toppled onto her front, Madeline’s body refused panic. Years upon years of grappling had embedded instinct too deeply into muscle and bone. Still, the reversal had happened. And Lucia knew it.

Madeline could feel it in the smug tension wrapped around her leg and in the dark satisfaction dripping from the blonde’s whisper against her ear. The stepover toehold sleeper settled around her, one arm snaking tightly against her throat while Lucia trapped her ankle between her thighs. Not perfect, but dangerous enough.

But Madeline soon recognised immediately why Lucia had not fully committed to the choke. The champion lacked the leverage and breath to properly cinch it in after the…"soft" punishment she had already endured. Instead, Lucia diverted her free hand downward, fingers tugging insistently at Madeline’s top until cool air brushed against exposed skin.

Then came the rough squeeze. Groping and prodding done with feverish obsession. Madeline won't deny it feels good. But she would deny it being known and written on her face.

Madeline’s brow rose faintly. “Oh dear…” she drawled with aristocratic dryness, entirely unbothered despite the position. “How scandalous. To think you would objectify my divinely gifted assets, that everyone has already seen, so crudely.” Lucia’s hand continued its feverish groping, fingers digging and kneading with almost greedy insistence. Madeline could not help the small smile that touched her lips at that.

“You truly are fascinated by them, aren’t you?” The English Rose murmured calmly, so that only Lucia could hear. “First your tongue, now your hands. For someone so devoted to modesty, you seem remarkably eager to keep touching me. Did you like the milk that much?”

The taunt was not merely for amusement. Madeline could already feel Lucia’s emotional investment bleeding into the hold itself. The rough handling lacked patience. It lacked composure. Lucia was trying to humiliate her rather than optimise control.

A mistake.

Madeline’s free hand quietly pressed against Lucia’s choking arm, not attempting to tear it away outright, but subtly creating fractions of breathing room at the wrist and elbow — tiny adjustments. Veteran movements learned through years of surviving worse positions against stronger grapplers. At the same time, her other hand stretched forward. Fingers brushed the canvas. Then the whole hand dragged. Madeline began inching both of them toward the ropes.

The crowd noise swelled as people realised what she was doing. Every measured pull brought them closer, Lucia still clinging stubbornly to her back while Madeline crawled forward through pure strength and technique.

[BlackAkuma]

After she and Sister Prudence retrieved Sister Chastity from the backroom of LAW, their compatriot had spoken, at length, about Madeline’s ‘strengths’ as a wrestler. At first, this had been at Sister Lucia’s insistence, wanting to get some insight into the woman she would be facing, her first challenger, but, well…Sister Chastity was adept at description, especially of the lewd variety, and had gone far and above the call of duty when it came to relaying her experience.

Yes, Sister Lucia had seen the display, but there was a world of difference between watching something and experiencing. She had missed the details of what this woman’s body felt like, how those hands could work wonders upon you, the horrible spells she could cast with a single touch. The screen hadn't properly conveyed the haunting gaze in her eyes, or the dulcet tones of her voice.

She could see how such a body could lead so many to ruin. Even now, as she fondled the woman’s breast, there was an addiction to it. Her hands craved the softness, and a part of - insistent, greedy, lustful - wanted them back on her face, consequences be damned.

She tamped down those impulses. If she truly had to do such things, she could do them after the bitch was tied up. It might even be a fun way to spend her time after the match, keeping her other plans in mind…

Madeline’s words brought her focus back, and she sneered at the woman’s devil-may-care attitude, clearly whistling in the dark. As much as she wanted to ignore the words, even Sister Lucia could not ignore the kernel of truth they held, and she was glad that the woman could not see her reddening cheeks from this position.

Let her talk. Let her taunt. The superior position was still hers, and Madeline was forced to crawl along like the serpent she was, dragging them towards the ropes, bit by bit. She might very well reach them, too. Sister Lucia was no heavy burden to bear, almost looking like a child on the woman’s back. She would certainly attain her goal.

But not without some cost, Sister Lucia decided. ”Succubus,” She tightened the hold and wrenched Madeline’s head back, so close now that her lips brushed the woman’s ear with every word. ”I would think one such as yourself would appreciate foreplay. But have it your way.” Her hand moved away from Madeline’s chest and began to trail lower. ”We will cut to the chase.”

Sister Lucia pulled back on the trapped leg as much as she could, forcing Madeline’s hip to rise with it, just enough for her to slip her hand under the woman’s body as she crawled. From there, her fingers sought out the woman’s sex, slipped beneath her garment, and began to stroke in the darkness, pressing against her pussy with a steady, insistent touch. It wouldn’t be enough to get an orgasm before she escaped, she knew, but it would only benefit her to build the foundation for later.

[Lightman]

Madeline would probably be right to assume there was far more than a kernel of truth to what she had said.

Believe it or not, there was technique within hentai wrestling. Intention. Strategy. Layers beneath the obvious spectacle. Someone like Lucia would likely dismiss that notion publicly, preaching about corruption and indulgence whilst pretending herself untouched by either, but Madeline had spent far too long within this world not to recognise the differences between competitors.

Some approached pleasure clinically. Mechanical. Efficient enough to secure victory, yet hollow in execution, like machinery following instructions without understanding the meaning behind them. Others lost themselves entirely within the experience. They touched their opponents as though the match were not combat at all, but something intimate shared after wine and candlelight. Genuine feeling existed there, but so too did danger. Wrestlers like that could forget the purpose of the contest entirely.

Lucia, Madeline suspected, leaned far closer to the latter than she would ever willingly admit.

The tongue against her breast earlier had not been simple opportunism. Those greedy hands squeezing and kneading her chest now spoke of indulgence rather than discipline. Even the fingers now slipping lower beneath her attire carried that same desperate curiosity, eager to feel rather than merely execute. For all the blonde’s sermons about purity, she enjoyed the flesh far too much.

Madeline inhaled sharply as Lucia’s fingers finally found their target, the sudden pressure drawing a pleasant shiver through her body despite herself. Pleasure and discomfort blended together beneath the lingering strain of the hold, the sensation impossible to ignore, no matter how composed the Briton remained.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “My, my~.” Madeline’s voice was warm with amusement. “Straight to this already?”

Lucia’s touch remained steady, insistent against her, trying to build momentum while the hold restrained her movement. Madeline’s fingers tightened fractionally around the ropes ahead of them as another measured breath left her.

“What I said did not mean I dislike foreplay.” She continued smoothly. “And I didn’t say stop either. Are you perhaps embarrassed about your…natural inclinations?” The insinuation hung in the air, a barb aimed directly at Lucia’s carefully constructed facade of piety.

The taunt came effortlessly despite the situation, though there was calculation beneath it. Madeline could feel the slight shifts in Lucia’s body whenever her composure cracked, the subtle reactions hidden beneath arrogance and outrage alike. And all the while, inch by inch, she continued dragging them forward.

The ropes loomed closer now. Madeline’s outstretched hand finally grasped the bottom strand firmly, fingers curling around it with unmistakable intent. The crowd reacted immediately, noise swelling throughout the arena as the referee moved beside them and began the count.

As the referee’s hand went up, and the count echoed through the arena, Madeline exhaled slowly, her body relaxing incrementally. Reprieve was imminent. “Once I get out of this...” Madeline murmured, a promise imbued with deliberate intent. “I’ll let you have a proper taste. All to your heart’s content~.” She knew the words would shock, perhaps even infuriate Lucia, distracting her just enough for the inevitable break.

[BlackAkuma]

There were some - even within her own convent - who branded Sister Lucia as a hypocrite for using these sensual moves, and she could see the argument, though she disagreed. They saw her delivering pleasure to those they sought to convert, saw her attire and the way she conducted herself, and believed that her actions were antithetical to the cause. They would have her dress in a bodysuit, keeping her gifts wrapped.

But a hunter had to know her prey, and had to be familiar with their ways. And to defeat these hentai wrestlers, she had to lower herself and share in their ways. She had learned much in her time among them, had mastered their ways, and that was what brought the Hentai Championship to her hands. So, too, would it be what kept it there.

For that reason, Madeline’s words bothered her little. She had already seen the sign she want, as the woman’s breath caught and showed her pleasure, anything else was just so much noise. She had slipped her foot in the door, and from this should continue to push it open, inch by inch if need be.

”I will show you my ‘natural inclinations’ when this match is over, slut.” She wrenched the hold that much harder and probed that much deeper. ”I suspect you will not find them as amusing as you do now.”

Sister Lucia would have greatly loved to share more threats with her foe, but Madeline’s journey finally came to an end when she reached the ropes and grabbed them tight, bringing in the referee to end the hold. Unorthodox this match might’ve been, but certain rules still applied.

”3! 4! Come on, Lucia, let up!”

”Sister Lucia.” She corrected as she contemptuously let the hold go. While she didn’t fear a disqualification, she would not have Madeline take away such a victory, even if it was only a moral one. The goal wasn’t merely to retain, but to banish the woman from hentai wrestling. Only a win would suffice.

She gave Madeline one, final, quick pump with her fingers, then stood up and backed up, giving Madeline some space to rise. As she did, however, Sister Lucia licked her lips as she looked between them. She took a sly step back, creating just enough distance, then waited for Madeline to rise. Just a little more…almost…

”Move!” Sister Lucia used the referee to cover her movements as she bounded foreward, with the woman scarcely having enough time to throw herself out of harm's way. Once more, she came spinning in, her veil and hair twirling through the air, and shot her leg up with a roundhouse kick as she ended the twist, attempting to strike Madeline in the head with the Last Rites.