Madeline Christiansen vs. Armando 'Army' Rodriguez - Our Dance

[BlackAkuma]

The match was over, officially. He and Madeline had been wrestling for the better part of an hour, and while Army wasn’t big on the technical side of wrestling shows, he knew they had strict schedules they went by, and that they were probably pushing things. That might’ve been the end of the broadcast, but they probably had stuff lined up for them afterwards, matches they wanted to get through, people waiting on them. At least, they needed to get someone in to clean the ring. It was like a slip-and-slide.

And yet, the referee wasn’t rushing them; they weren’t getting signals from the camera crew, and even the crowd was watching with a muted, mumbling hum. They had all the time in the world.

It was a good thing, too, because Army didn’t want any distractions, trying to dedicate himself wholly to the task at hand. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right, and that meant working over her foot properly. Leaving no spot uncleaned, getting every inch, all while she stood above him in that haughty, controlling pose. He could only imagine what it looked like from the outside. In here? Madeline seemed a hundred feet tall. Imperious and imposing, like the ring was her throne room.

He busied himself, only taking a moment to stop and answer her question. ”You. Wrapped tight around me In control. Those eyes…” He dared to look at them again and saw them gleaming his way, brighter than the lights above. ”Amazing counter, by the way.”

He rubbed his face along her foot as she stroked it against him, missing the warmth as it was taken away, but he was given a suitable replacement a moment later. Now that he was fully out of his stupor, he went to work on it with renewed vigor, happily tracing his tongue along the counters of her foot and even bringing his hands into the mix. He grasped her ankle, delicately, aiding her balance and making it easier for him to work and all the best spots.

”You’re right, though.” He spoke in between licks, whenever he could find enough air to get out of a full sentence. ”You gave me two orgasms. Great ones.” Even now, he couldn't help but shudder at the memories. He’d be riding this high for days. ”Doesn’t seem entirely fair.”

He peeked out from beneath her foot with a playful smirk, making sure it caught her eye as the gears began to turn. ”And I still owe you a wish. Don’t think I forgot about that.” Never let it be said that Armando Rodriguez wasn’t a man of his word. At this point, though, he was mostly just curious to see how Madeline would react.

[Lightman]

"My my, sounds like quite the dream. Who knows, it might come true~."

Balancing gracefully on one foot, Madeline watched with amusement as Armando dedicated himself to his task. There was no hesitation, no reluctance, nary a sight of revulsion, just a steady devotion that was as surprising as it was pleasing. His touch was careful, his attention unwavering, and she appreciated his willingness to make her comfortable even as she held him beneath her. His eagerness was infectious, and as he leaned into the work, she allowed herself the luxury of indulging in the sense of dominance that washed over her.

She glimpsed a teasing opportunity and took it immediately. “Did you take those kicks just to enjoy my feet more?” She quipped, a playful lilt dancing through her voice. “Or perhaps you were trying to catch a better look before the match even began.” Her emerald eyes sparkled as she gradually, slowly lifted her leg higher, keeping her foot just slightly out of reach to test his resolve. Would he remain devoted, stretching further to meet her elevation? She was curious to see how far he would go.

He was persistent, rising to the challenge with a determination that made her laugh softly. Madeline eventually let him catch up, pressing the ball of her foot gently to his lips, her toes cheekily pinching his nose. It was both a reward and a continuation of the game. “You have impressed me so far, Armando.” The English Rose murmured, the words carrying the warmth of genuine admiration laced with playful authority. “But now, we play a different game.”

With a smooth shift, she released the pressure just enough to permit air before drawing her foot away. “I’m going to walk to a corner.” Her tone was teasingly imperious. “You will follow and worship the ground I walk upon.” It was a command borne of play rather than cruelty, a game to see how far his dedication extended beyond the fight.

She moved deliberately, turning towards one corner, but at the last moment veered towards the opposite direction. It was an elegant swerve, executed with the poise of a dancer and the intent of a mistress guiding her subservient pupil. The crowd murmured with intrigue, their eyes tracking her movements as much as his, eager to see how far this new display of loyalty would travel.

Each step would be a silent command, each pause an unspoken invitation. The ring, her kingdom; he, the humbled knight. Madeline would lead him on a graceful circuit of the ropes, marking the canvas with quiet authority and saliva-coated footprints. The game was hypnotic, a slow dance through the aftermath of their clash, and Madeline was curious to see how he balanced humour with obligation.

Her footfalls were light and deliberate, echoing softly through the space between them. She’d savoured each moment; the closeness renewed not by combat but by this delicate camaraderie. The playful challenge would be hers to direct and his to follow.

[BlackAkuma]

Army was a lot of things - a goof, a klutz, a Gundam-enthusiast - but one thing he wasn’t, ever, was a half-asser. There weren’t too many things in life that he poured himself into, but when he did, he was going to do them right and do them well, as best as he could. That went for everything - boxing, cooking, cleaning, and yeah, even footlicking.

It helped that Madeline’s feet were particularly pristine, though. As much as she could expect, given everything they’d been through for the last half-hour. Soft and supple, his tongue glided over the smooth skin, worked at every pore, conquered every crevice. It wasn't something he was super-experienced in, but he improvised, and he did a decent enough job, if the response from Madeline was anything to go by.

The idea that he let her kick the shit out of him on purpose brought a hearty chuckle out of him, along with a raspy cough. ”I can neither confirm… nor deny…” He brought his head up as she dangled the foot out of his reach, baiting him like a fish going for the hook.

It got him a pinch on the nose. Cute.

Army would’ve been content to lie there for a while and just go to work on her feet - and it seemed like the audience wouldn’t have hated it, either, judging by all the soft murmurs and jealous looks he was getting. But it seemed like she had a deeper game to play, and he was more than eager to go along with it - he sat up, devoted his attention her way as she doled out instruction, happy to play the faithful lapdog.

She told him to follow, so he followed. She told him to worship, so he worshipped.

On hands and knees, he crawled after her, bringing his lips to the canvas with every step she took. It wasn’t hard, he could see the wetness she left behind every time she made contact. Madeline left traces of her taste along the way, mixed with all the sweat and salt, and he happily lapped it all up, recognizing the game they were playing and determining himself to win it. As much as it could be won, anyway.

He looked up and saw her poised, imperiously strutting about the ring, in total control of every step she took. There was a regal air about her, and he knew it was more than just the Tudor rose style or her heavenly accent. Madeline carried herself like a queen, like obedience was something she was owed by default, with no questions asked. It was that air that had drawn him from the first bell and kept him going throughout the match. This sort of raw magnetism that drew him in, like a spell she’d cast.

Falling in love? He wouldn’t go that far. But falling in lust? Oh, he was there. He could remember the last time he’d been this enthralled, if ever.

[Lightman]

Madeline had him completely wrapped around her finger, and she savoured every moment.

She recalled a night years ago when she watched a match between a former dominatrix-turned-wrestler and her male opponent. The bout was less of a competition and more a masterclass in control, with the woman commanding every moment, her dominion unquestioned. Whips had cracked, chains had rattled, and the man had submitted not merely in body but in spirit. It was a spectacle of raw power, and though it had impressed her, Madeline still preferred a different path. For her, the greatest triumph came from wielding nothing more than her body, an instrument honed and sharpened through the unrelenting rigour of countless battles.

Reaching the last corner, Madeline glanced over her shoulder, watching Armando’s devotion play out in every deliberate kiss pressed into the mat. The spectacle was unconventional, perhaps, yet seemed perfectly suited to the dynamic they had nurtured across the match. Where others might rely on external tools for control, she found satisfaction in using only herself. It was raw; it was pure, and it was beautiful. The pugilist’s reverence made this more than a mere match; it was an art form, and he, the willing canvas.

As she paused, she allowed a playful laugh to escape, her voice dripping with the confidence of a femme fatale. She raised her foot behind her, the ball of it cupping his chin and tilting his head upward. "Look at you." she murmured, a sense of satisfaction in her voice. "You are just made to serve."

Turning gracefully, she bent down, her index finger gently lifting his chin as her eyes captured his. "You owe me a wish, remember?" Her smile was predatory yet alluring. "That's what you said, right? Here's your chance to make things fair."

With languid elegance, Madeline climbed up onto the top turnbuckle, settling herself as though upon a throne. She spread her legs slightly, the perfect picture of poise entwined with command. "You will eat me." Madeline instructed with silky authority. "Since you wish to give me that pleasure, I shall allow it."

Her conditions, however, came with the edge of a silver-tongued blade. "But…While you do…you will hump my foot. Not gently. Not slowly…” Her voice turned almost imperceptibly stern. “…Like you desperately wish to claim release. If you finish before I do, or if you falter…" she continued, her tone dropping to a devilish low.

"…I will knock you out. And this time, I shan't be gentle. I can make your slumber more painful than you can imagine. You could try to fight or resist... but we both know you can't stop me. Once you wake, we will start again. As many times as it takes."

Her gaze was steady, her offer mingling both promise and threat. She leaned back slightly, a sovereign awaiting tribute, her body a landscape of tantalising possibility. The arena watched with bated breath, her words just for him but the spectacle for everyone. In this moment, the world outside faded to insignificance, leaving only the two of them suspended in this sophisticated game of power and submission.

Madeline's heart thrummed with the thrill of it, the ultimate test of endurance, skill, and desire. "So. What say you? Want to make this wish come true?" Her voice sultry with anticipation. The challenge was issued, the terms clear, and the stage set for their private encore. Whatever happened next, it would be of his choosing, guided entirely by how much he was willing to give.

[BlackAkuma]

Step. Kiss. Step. Kiss. Step. Kiss.

Army fell into a rhythm as he tracked Madeline’s movements through the ring, keeping up with her every inch of the way, never ceasing, never pausing. It was an easy roll to fall into, and she wasn’t making it too hard for him to keep up. His eyes tracked her every movement, following her through the ring, hot on her heels. He might as well have been on a leash. Wherever she went, he followed, and there was something satisfying about the look she was giving him. It was a game. Was he winning it? He thought so.

But all games had to come to an end, and hers end when they came to the final corner. He rose up to a single knee and looked up as she turned his way, looming above him in all her regal glory. Despite all the sweat, despite what they’d both been through, she still had a fresh look about her. A shine. You’d be hard pressed to know what she’d just been doing for the past half-hour. At best, you might think she just came in from a light jog.

Army tipped his chin up to accept her touch - light, soothing, electric on his skin. It made him glad he’d decided to shave this morning, so he didn’t miss an inch of it, feeling her as much as possible. He nodded along, agreeing with her - he did owe her a wish, right. He felt he had a pretty good idea what she would want, too, but he patiently waited for the confirmation, and it didn’t take long.

Army looked up, watching as Madeline took her place on the turnbuckle, claiming it as her seat and making everyone in attendance jealous of the pads. Sure enough, her commands were carnal and simple - he owed her an orgasm, and she was ready to take it. He almost dove in without a second thought.

Her next words gave him pause, though, as she added an extra wrinkle. He froze, confused for a moment, as he processed what she was saying, why she was upping the ante. It seemed a little needless, at first. He’d already come, twice, and been knocked out once. Why make it a competition?

But the sense dawned on him - everything was a competition. Everything was a challenge. That wasn’t going to stop, just because the bell rang.

Instead of answering her with words, Army chose actions. Fortunately for him, Madeline’s outfit gave him easy access to where he needed to be. With a wisp of a smile, he stood up, leaned forward, and go to work, reaching up her back leg and pulling the fabric aside to expose her pussy, bringing it out into the fresh.

The crowd ooed and awed as his tongue met her folds, but he didn't pay them any mind. While he was sure there would be no shortage of pictures swarming the internet and making even a couple memes, he kept his focus on what mattered - pleasing her, tasting her, touching her. He gripped her hips for balance and dove in with out a second thought, starting up at a fervent pace.

At the same time, however, he didn’t forget the other part of their unspoken wagers. Army took her foot with one hand, slipped it into his pants, and went to work with the same amount of gusto he gave to her, thrusting into her skin with a steady, rhythmic pace. Even though he’d already been to that mountaintop twice, he could already feel himself climbing up again, at an incredibly rapid pace…

[Lightman]

Everything was a competition.

It extended far beyond the roar of the bell, surpassing the confines of the sanctioned rules. Life itself seemed woven with unending contests. Whether it was earning the highest grades, securing the best positions, or climbing the ranks in LAW. Wrestling was no different. You competed to shine in the eyes of major federations, to earn more matches, to gain recognition and acclaim. From classroom battles to gymnasium challenges to the very ring on which she now presided, competition had always shaped her journey.

And now, another contest emerged - one she relished with every fibre of her being. As fond as she was of Armando, her competitive pride had no intention of simply letting him make her cum. It wouldn't allow it.

Seated upon her makeshift throne, Madeline watched as her command set things in motion. The stakes were high, the rules of this private engagement clear. Her lips curved into an almost sinister smile, the type that concealed as much as it revealed.

The journey to pleasure was faster than usual, the buzz of anticipation shortening the path. Each movement sent electric shivers through her, the culmination of tension built expertly along the match. But she maintained her poise, the trademark composure that never cracked even under the relentless pounding of pleasure's approach. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him steady, urging him onward with a silent demand. Inwardly, she steeled herself, refusing to mentally surrender. If Armando sought to win this battle, he would truly have to fight for it.

His touch was fervent, the heat of competition driving him to explore every nuance. Madeline’s breath hitched, but her gaze remained unwavering, following his every move, assessing every shift with predatory insight. Her nails grazed his scalp, both a caress and a directive. “Do not dawdle, my dear…” she murmured, the words sliding between gritted teeth, a test of endurance and focus. Victory is nearly at hand. But only for one of them.

Pleasure rose, an irresistible tide threatening to overwhelm her. Madeline fought against the mounting waves with all the resolve honed from years of competition. On the surface, she remained the picture of regal restraint, but beneath, a tempest raged, clawing ever closer to the brink.

Her body responded instinctively to his ministrations, an undeniable proof of his skill and the stakes of this final challenge. Every touch, every stroke, strummed across her nerves like a bow upon strings, conjuring a melody of almost unbearable sweetness. But Madeline was not one to falter easily. She matched his fervour with focus, each moment an eternity in their intimate warfare.

The tension was exquisite - a razor's edge between triumph and surrender. Madeline’s confidence wavered not, even as her body betrayed its imminent release. “Fight for it, Armando.” she urged, a command wrapped in satin, yet unyielding as iron.

Her heart pounded, each throb an echo of the battle within. Whether he succeeded in drawing her to the brink, or if his own strength would crumble beneath pressure, only time and effort would tell.

[BlackAkuma]

Twice. Army had already cum twice, and even so, it felt like Madeline was on the cusp of pushing him over the third time. On the face of it, that seemed impossible. While he’d never say he was hentai master or anything crazy like that, he was usually good enough that even the wildest women couldn't get him back up after that. He was human, he needed to rest. Refill the juices. Whatever you wanted to call it.

And yet, with her foot slipping around his cock, working them in their strong softness, he couldn't help what was coming. He could feel the blood surging through his body, his breath quickening. It was like she’d cast some kind of spell on him - despite the damage he’d taken, despite wrestling for over half an hour, and his body being on the verge of collapse, there was no denying where this was going to go if it followed the natural progress of things. He was about to pop.

But he wasn’t going to go alone, and he wasn’t going to go first - not if he could help it.

With Madeline’s fingers gripping his hair, he plunged in deeper and hotter, letting his tongue run wild against her softest places. At first, he thought he might not have been having much of an effect - he knew what reactions to expect from this, had done it enough that he was waiting for the signs, the shivers, the shudders. It took him a moment to realize that Madeline was holding back and keeping her usual poise. Underneath all that regal air, though, she was quivering.

When she spoke, he could hear the need in her voice. The longing. She needed this as much as he did, maybe more. She couldn't see it, but if Madeline was paying enough attention, she might’ve felt the smile on his face.

She urged him to fight, and fight he did, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold on. He could tell the struggle was real for her too - oh, she did a great job of hiding it behind the regal mask, but he’d had enough contact with her body that he was growing used to it, now. He knew what to look for, what to feel, and he could tell that she was on the verge.

He went into a furious flurry as her feet finished their work, pushing him over to another blinding climax, one that had him moaning into her pussy. He wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded in beating her to the punch, and, being honest? He didn’t care too much.

It was just enough to taste her, feel her. To have her heat against his chest. This was exactly where he wanted to be.

[Lightman]

The concept of refractory periods, the physiological limits of pleasure after release, had always fascinated Madeline. While there were always exceptions, the goal in hentai was often to push an opponent to the brink, over and over, until they could take no more and submitted completely.

Even though this was not a sanctioned match per se, Madeline still treated the entire engagement as one of her fiercest contests. What made it so thrilling to her was the inherent risk. The knowledge that, like Armando, she too could explode at any moment. This was living in the danger zone, performing with an intensity that demanded survival, keeping her head above the waves of ecstasy lest they engulf her completely. This was the raw, unbridled existence that had driven her to abandon her aristocratic life, drawing her into the wild embrace of LAW.

And this was why Madeline loved doing what she does.

She gripped his hair, knuckles white as her core tightened, every nerve alive with the desperate struggle to hold on. His tongue was a flame against her, hot and insistent, and the sensation of his manhood working against her foot brought her closer to the edge than she had ever permitted. The warnings in her mind screamed, clamouring for her to retreat, to regain composure, but her body had ceased to obey. The shivers, the shudders, they came now, deep and undeniable, betraying the veneer of her composure.

Armando can easily sense her need, the longing. He felt it. He knew it. And in that moment, her control, her fierce, unyielding pride, threatened to shatter completely. The fight was real, the contest agonisingly close, a battle waged in the most intimate arena of all. She could feel his focus, his single-minded drive, pouring into her, demanding a response.

The edges of her vision began to blur, the overhead lights blooming into a soft, indistinct halo. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp, every fibre of her straining, battling against the onslaught of sensation. She was on the precipice, teetering between command and capitulation, a thrilling, terrifying vulnerability she had not experienced in years.

Her muscles spasmed, a deep tremor rippling through her core. The effort to maintain her regal facade was immense, a struggle against every screaming nerve. It was futile. The floodgates opened, and a gasp tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled. Her back arched sharply, a profound shiver running through her entire body as the wave crashed, pure, unadulterated ecstasy washing over her.

The release was staggering, a full-body tremor that left her utterly breathless, her grip on his hair momentarily slackening. Her vision swam, blurred with the aftermath of pure sensation. She was undone, a queen dethroned by the sheer force of pleasure he had commanded.

As the initial shock receded, a raw, almost feral satisfaction bloomed in her chest. He had pushed her over the edge, achieved what few others ever had. Her breath came in ragged gasps, mingled with a quiet, shaky laugh that spoke of exhaustion and triumph. “Oh, Armando…” Her voice husky, still trembling with the aftershocks of her climax. “…You truly are full of surprises~.”

For a brief, exquisite moment, the Englishwoman simply luxuriated in the warm, wet afterglow. Then, Madeline’s eyes, still glazed with the lingering haze of pleasure, found his. “Breathe in, darling. Breathe it in.”

[BlackAkuma]

Somewhere in the back of Army’s mind - in the dull, hollow space that was running on nothing but rational thought - Army realized that, while it might’ve felt like the two of them were alone, they weren’t. They were in a ring, surrounded by thousands of people, watched by millions. The sponsors were waiting. The commercials were coming. Time was money, and they were taking up time that wasn’t really there.

That was someone’s problem, but it wasn’t his. Right now, Army’s focus was locked on the insanely beautiful woman in front of him, who’d just given him the best footjob of his life - not that he’d had enough footjobs for that to mean anything.

Was it weird that, through all of it, the thing that was really getting him was the grip on his hair? He’d never been all that fussy about keeping his strands groomed, usually just doing enough to make sure they didn’t get in his eyes when he fought. But fuck if he didn’t love the feel of her hands on his scalp, digging in and yanking them. Even after everything they’d been through, she was still strong and wild and dangerous, and he wanted her all over him.

Breathing slowed and cool air came over Army’s body as he came down from the high along with her. From the sound of things, she was experiencing the same things, and showing all the signs of satisfaction. He was pleased.

Army licked his lips, taking in some of her taste, and wiped the rest of her juices away with his forearm. Or tried to, anyway. More than anything, he just smeared them around, making a bigger mess. He’d worry about that later. He needed a shower, hot and long. And something to eat. Fuck, was he hungry. Come to think of it…

”Hey,” He propped his elbow on her knees and met her eyes again, comfortably meeting her gaze. It was a reflex, at this point. Army felt trained. ”You hungry? I’m hungry. Catch a bite with me?”