Special Rules: Moves are dictated by via stream chat.
Victory Conditions: If a competitor knocks their opponent out and they are unable to respond to a ten-count to rise. If a competitor verbally resigns from the match.
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Everything needed to be perfect.
stood in the middle of the lavish bedroom set, watching the crew with an appraiser’s eye as they fussed over the final touches. The space had been remade into a vision of decadent intimacy: pale-blue light washing over the walls, hard shadows curling into the corners, a king-sized bed stretched proudly at the center with satin sheets that shimmered under the glow. Velvet chairs framed the edges, drawers neatly arranged like stage props, while discreet cameras perched in the corners, their tiny red eyes already blinking alive, ready to drink in every angle.
She was already dressed for the occasion. Her body was wrapped in a two-piece from Yse, Britanny Yse’s luxury lingerie brand and the centerpiece of tonight’s event. The delicate pink lace and silk traced her curves with sculpted precision, and from her top hung a short, dark, semi-transparent slip, a gauzy veil that did little to hide what lay beneath but felt divine on her skin. Each shift of her hips made it ripple and slide, a shadowy tease meant to heighten the promise of revelation.
Her bare feet pressed into the rug as she glided across the floor, the texture brushing against her toes, grounding her while she moved with liquid poise. She reached the bed and trailed her fingertips across the satin covers, testing the fabric with a soft press before nodding her approval. It gleamed just right under the camera’s watchful gaze. Expensive. Enticing. Unforgettable. Exactly what Yse deserved in the spotlight. Exactly the allure a fundraiser like this required.
She turned toward one of the mounted lenses, tilting her chin, brushing a lock of hair back with languid precision. A slow, teasing wave followed, her smile small but heavy with promise, a knowing grin that seemed to ripple through the invisible audience beyond the glass. Presentation mattered. Anticipation mattered. She had built an empire on knowing precisely how to feed both. Tonight, that expertise would serve more than her own name. Tonight it would elevate Yse, and funnel every gaze and every donation toward a worthy cause.
When the last staffer slipped out and the door clicked shut, Ayumi moved to claim the set as if it were her private boudoir. She eased onto the bed, letting her gown fall open at the thigh as she crossed one leg over the other, reclining against the pillows in a languid sprawl that could have been lifted straight from a glossy spread. Her hand traced lazy circles across the satin, while the other adjusted her hem with a casual flick.
Her bright eyes lifted to the nearest camera, lashes lowered, her lips curling into a velvet smile that was equal parts invitation and command.
“Mmm… flawless,” she purred under her breath, the words a private confession made for millions to hear. “Everything’s ready. The stage is ours. All that remains…” She tilted her head, her expression softening as if she could already feel the presence of the one who would soon join her. “…is my darling Britanny.”
With that, Ayumi rolled onto her side, propping her cheek against her hand. Every line of her body eased into the sheets with deliberate grace. To the cameras, to the audience, she was already the dream at the heart of the performance, a goddess waiting in Yse silk, poised for the moment her partner would slip under the lights and turn anticipation into spectacle.
