Stancil 'Storm' Jordan vs. Luong Chun - He Who Hesitates

[BlackAkuma]

What came next? Luong had already decided. She would bring Storm to the middle of the ring, kick him in the face until he lost what little senses remained, sit on his face for the three counts, and stay there until he either lost consciousness or the official forced her off—an ignominious end for a man who thoroughly deserved it. Frankly, it was one of the better ways he could go. Peaceful. Serene. Simple.

But no. In all things, Storm had to be an obstinate, idiotic man.

They had just reached the middle of the ring when he struck out, swinging his arm and battering her in the knee. Earlier on, when his power was at its peak, such a move would’ve left her on her back in a crumpled heap. As worn down as he was, however, it was just enough to hurt and send her staggering away but not hard enough to do anything else…except royally piss her off.

She stared back at him from the shadows of her tumbling tresses, her face reddened and her nostrils flaring. ”That. Is. It.”

Luong shrieked with a banshee’s howl as she leaped back towards him, spinning in a brilliant, wild display of athleticism as she soared. She spun about one, twice, three times, then lashed out with a fantastic kick to Storm’s face as she descended, hitting him with the most powerful move in her arsenal - her Critical Finisher, the Grand Coronation.

[Crossedes]

Storm succeeded. Of all things, he succeeded. He could hear a gasp ring out from the crowd, some of them having come to hope as much as he did that something better than a continued beatdown could come of this match. It lifted him enough to avoid waiting to see what came of striking her. He didn't get much, he knew, but she did stagger, he did have an opening, and if he could just get his legs to work, his torso could be damned and some other part of him could do the rest of the work. He succeeded in getting one foot beneath him, hunching, shaking his head to summon some adrenaline.

He didn't fail to see her moving toward him, but he would have barely stopped whatever she planned to do even if it had been as simple as walking over to poke him in the eyes. Having to watch like a bystander as she performed cirque du soleil did nothing for his snail's reactions, and though he caught onto what she sought to do at the last second, moving out of the way would have been a Sisyphean task. Storm experienced the initial skull-splitting pain, but he barely knew anything but the dull screaming in his brain as he dropped onto his forehead.

[BlackAkuma]

Luong had practiced this move before—many times. Among Lee’s many talents, she was also a perfect sparring partner, performing with just enough skill to be competent but not enough to be an actual threat. This made her an ideal test subject for her techniques, and whenever she landed this one? Success was assured.

This time would be no different. But infinitely more satisfying.

Her kick landed clean, and while she was moving far too fast to see his reaction, she liked to imagine the look in his eyes, the fear when he realized what was about to happen. Like watching the guillotine fall towards your neck - horrifying and exhilarating. Then the kick landed, and the lights went out.

Luong popped to her feet as a few of the wiser audience members gave their applause, along with the usual exuberance from her translator. She took a moment to clear the hair away from her face, then looked over her shoulder to see Storm - or what was left of the man, instead. He was laid out, wrecked, an unmoving husk, and she couldn't even tell if he was still conscious. Nor did she care much, either. It wouldn’t change what happened next.

She spun about, placed her foot under his shoulder, and lifted him to casually flop him onto his back. She lifted her foot and ran her toes over his mouth, just enough to give him a lingering taste, before she stood over his neck and proceeded to give him something much more pleasant.

Luong sighed, smiled, and proceeded to give Storm the best view in the entire arena as she brought her fine rear to his face and settled in for a fine facesitting. She covered his nose and mouth, but made sure to leave his eyes visible - she wanted to stare into them, to commit every reaction to memory, and for him to stare back and do the same for hers. He needed to know how much she absolutely relished this.

Most importantly, his shoulders were to the mat, and the referee slid over to do her job, starting up a count. ”1…!”

[Crossedes]

Storm couldn't tell if he was still conscious, either. Blank seconds passed except for blistering pain from the back of his head, but he couldn't tell if any time had passed between the hit and the pain. He could feel himself roll, which just jarred his aching skull, and his hands slid up almost on their own to hold the crown of his head. He listened for anyone asking him if he survived - the couple of concussions he had endured usually resulted in that - but he could still only hear crowd noise. Only the sensation of something pressing against his lips, something that smelled like sweaty skin, got him anywhere close to cognizant, and his eyes slowly fluttered open.

He couldn't gauge exactly what he was looking at when he did. The lights blinded him to the point of groaning, and he could only see a shapely silhouette. Only once Storm dragged his hands over his eyes and squinted did his vision clear enough to see a seat inches from his face and the woman it belonged to looming above. The Highlander gasped, but that would be his last breath as she dropped her warm rear down onto his face, and the translator's words from earlier crashed back through his mind like a freight train.

His reaction was immediate. His eyes flew wide in a panic, and his mind raced too much to decide which part was worse - breathing in nothing but her, the weight on his aching head, the sensation of growth against his trunks, or the fact that he didn't think for a second he could free his face from her ass. His hands came up to push and shove at her hips, but his fatigued muscles couldn't manage anything. Grunting, groaning into her smothering backside, he almost missed the count of one, but the crowd echoing it tipped him off. He was going to lose serving as her seat. He was going to lose with her leaving him stiff for everyone to see.

He had only started trying to feebly bridge once the count reached "Two!", and the horrified Highlander already knew he couldn't force her off of him.

[BlackAkuma]

The right amount of weight. The proper spread of the legs. The angle of the hips. The placement of the legs. Arching the back, clenching the glute, ensuring the shoulders were pinned correctly.

Luong did not like to look at the matches of others, but her curiosity had been piqued enough when she came to LAW to make her see how other women performed her favorite form of humiliation - the facesit. What she was, in a word, embarrassing - they would slap their rear down and grind away, giving little thought for style or technique. No finesse. No passion. They treated it as a mere sex act, something to arouse and little more.

Luong approached facesitting as she did with all things: excellence, grace, precision. It was not only effective, denying Storm the pleasure of even a single breath, but she made sure to look regal and poised, exuding the dignity of an empress. While she would derive no small amount of sensual pleasure from the way, this would not show on her face - no, all he would see was the calm, impassive face of his better, staring down at him as the referee’s hand came down for a final time.

”3…!”

As it was always going to be. The result took longer than she would’ve liked to admit, with Storm proving to be a handful, but in the end, she wasn’t to be denied. As irritating as his defiance was, she would concede that it might have been for the best - after all, what better way to show the price of defiance than showcasing the worst-case scenario? Others would note this victory. Everything worked out.

That being said, if Storm believed this was the end of his torment, than he was sadly mistaken. She didn’t even move as the bell rang - no, she kept her place, shifted forward, and placed even more pressure on his face, ensuring an airtight seal. No breathing. But he could see, and more importantly, he could hear, even as the audience showered her with jeers.

”You brought this on yourself.”

[Crossedes]

For all some of the people he trained with tried to tease Storm about his lack of any romantic successes, he had been with two women in short-lived relationships. Though brief, both had turned intimate. But never had he experienced this. People slipped, adjusted poorly, body parts that shouldn't go together ended up together in wrestling matches, but not once had he looked up to see such authoritarian eyes looming over him and know that it had been her every intent to trap him beneath her ass. And he couldn't figure out what to do with the way the situation made him feel as her hips became more and more of a weight on his mouth and nose, every attempt to bridge seeming to trap him beneath her more securely.

She helped him along. He had almost lost all good sense by the time she earned the fall, but as she buried him deeper, he went into what little frenzy he still had in him as she dominated his face. Losing all worries about the embarrassment, the Highlander tried to pop his hips higher and higher to escape, to throw her off, even bringing his hands to any part of her hips he could touch in an effort to push her back over his head and spare himself from the torture. His grunts became louder and louder, and he tried to call out a no against her words that just made precisely where his mouth lay crushed more evident.

And reminded him that the worst part of all of it - or what should have been the worst - was his struggle to breathe. He was left sucking on her bottoms, trying to find some way to find enough oxygen to keep up his fight, but her weight on his face proved too much for him to find any space at all. As lightheadedness threatened to trickle in, he finally ended up shoving at everything - her stomach, her chest, reaching for her face - to force her to lose her balance.

And giving her the show of panic she surely wanted.

[BlackAkuma]

”Luong, you’ve won, let him up!” The referee gave her a light shove on the shoulder. ”Luong!”

Luong didn’t respond - at first. She merely opened her eyes after the touch and glared towards the referee, a sharp glance that was enough to make her back a few steps away. ”Touch me again,” She spoke in low tones, her whisper just barely carrying over the crowd’s din. ”And you will take his place.”

The threat was enough to make the woman - a small, mousy thing who wouldn’t have stood a chance - back off. She would likely go to call for help, if she mustered the courage to do anything, but it would hardly matter - they would arrive too late to be of any consequence.

This was it. This was the best part, where Storm started to struggle and fight, his natural reflexes taking over in a futile effort to stay awake, preserve himself. It was always the same - the last ditch effort of the body to escape the inevitable. To his credit, he put up a better fight than many, even coming close to unseating her with one of the more energetic attempts…but in the end, she had a good deal of experience doing this, and her fighting skills gave her an unparalleled balance. His face was going nowhere she didn’t want it to, and where she wanted it was between her legs, struggling, suffering the consequences of his actions.

”완전.” Luong whispered under her breath and closed her eyes, basking in the moment, waiting for the last signs of consciousness, for the struggles to wither into nothing -- not a twitch, not a tremor. It wouldn’t be long now, she was sure.

[Crossedes]

He couldn't budge her. The Highlander supposed it made sense - he couldn't do much of anything all match. He had enjoyed his moments, few and far between, but she had some counter to everything between her speed, her distractions, and her willingness to cut corners. Realizing he couldn't think or care about that while she continued to smother him, Storm strained his hardest with his latest attempt to peel her off of him, no longer too ashamed to dig his fingers into clothes around her hips and pull at them with everything he had - just something to get a grip on her and pull her ass off of his face. But that attempt failed, too.

And as he slumped down from it, he could feel it coming. His lungs burned like they wanted to rip themselves out of his aching chest. The next time he blinked, his eyes seemed to stay shuttered for seconds too long, and when he opened them, he jolted, almost went back to fighting, but he didn't have any fight left. The delirium crept in, putting an end to all his survival instincts, and Storm ended up bringing his hands up to rest on her thighs. The whole picture of her on top of him - pressure, sound, smell, the sight of her face - became the snapshot that stuck in his mind before he passed out, red-faced and lost to the world.