Natasha Vaughn vs Lacramioara Albescu - A Blaze In The Garden

[Monsy]

Reverse Hentai Mat Wrestling
Victory via using the opponent in a dominant position to bring themself to orgasm. No striking.

[DSX93]

Tonight was a good night. It felt like yet another extension added to what was already one long streak of fortune that followed her from those initial four years as her wife's manager to even now, with her climbing over to the other side of the ropes. The crowds were taken with her artistry, both in-ring and as a filmmaker. Though admittedly, Eveline had taken more pride in the latter, her aspiration from childhood onwards. But preference did not equal a lesser effort on her part. Her goal as a competitor had not changed, and she still worked just as hard to pave her way towards it.

She didn't know where Natasha Vaughn lied artistically, but as a combatant, she seemed to be cut from a similar cloth. Closer to Alix, all things considered: Her search would fail to uncover much information, but she would learn that the sexy redhead was coming into LAW with some experience, from her time as an erotic wrestler at a nightclub. A key similarity to After Dark's creator that had Lacramioara licking her lips while she waited in gorilla. Phoebe and Ionia both had some experience in nightclubs as well, but a look at Natasha's social media -- along with her reaction during their brief Twitter exchange -- wasn't one that was suggestive of a hard lean towards the harsh clashes that would be the striking specialist Lucinda Kane's claim to fame. Nor the surgically precise, though clinical games of chess that would be Serina's.

The Romanian had instead spotted the prospect of the spice that made rolls with Alix so much fun. And that energy was now being brought into a contest with rules that, in her opinion, brought forth the true spirit of erotic wrestling as an art form: With the unnecessary roughness of strikes having been made a non-factor, the two women will be better able to better focus on the sensuality. To feel. Digest. And the Reverse Hentai stipulation only added to the promise of indulgence. Her patience had waned away a long time ago, and now, at long last, it was time they met.

Smoke would rise from the floor, covering the stage, entranceway, and the outside of the ring to varying degrees, accompanied with red lighting. The former being at its thickest at the stage.

"Oh, who is she?"

Enough to hide the vampiress's features, leaving only a silhouette to view as she emerged from gorilla.

"A misty memory..."

The latter was soft, the goal being to wash over her visage as she strutted out of the most obscurant part of the fog, allowing her ruby red eyes to pierce into the camera in front of her, through every screen watching this elsewhere.

"A haunting face..."

The confidence that filled her gait was one that looked, felt, and had been earned. Long enough ago to have become second nature, her elegance a state of being. Her pace was one of leisure, her poise so well enmeshed with the smoke that it played tricks on the mind: Was she walking or gliding? Or perhaps some combination of the two?

"Am I in love with just a theme?"

There would be no poses. No theatrics. No plays to the crowd. Aside from that initial stare into the camera, that reach out to everyone who wasn't in the building, there wouldn't even be any interaction.

"Or is Ayesha just a dream?"

Just pure presence. That was all she needed.

"A mystery..."

And indeed, if one was paying attention, they'd notice the ring announcer's silence.

"Oh, who is she?"

And those watching her entrance through a screen would notice the lack of a graphic at the bottom that would normally display her name. A touch that she'd specifically requested for when she comes out to this song.

"Oh, who is she?"

Lacramioara walked -- floated? -- up the steps and slowed to a stop at the middle of the apron. Lifted one hosed leg, and extended it. Toes pointed forward, making the most of her decision to go without footwear. One that would be greatly appreciated by an already captive audience. Even stepping through the ropes would be a work of performance art, every movement calculated and executed to perfection. Continuing on, still, with the walk over to a corner. A twirl that would point a knowing eye to her background in ballet, and a floaty ascent to a seated position on the turnbuckle, one leg crossed over the other. She took her seat like a queen on her throne, the music fading with the smoke, into silence with the exception of one last isolated lyric...

"I call her name..."

That's when the announcer would finally speak.

"Ladies and gentleman, the following contest is scheduled for one orgasm! Introducing first, standing at five-foot-five and weighing in at one hundred and twenty-two pounds, 'The Sanguine Rose', Lacraaaaaaamioaraaaaaaaa Albescu!"