Beatrice Harper [D] vs Black Severin - Still Waters

[Liesmith]

Tris might have refrained from actually saying ‘gotcha’ but her sadistic smile as she crushed his torso? That was worth a thousand words.

She’d been wondering how those abs would feel between her thighs since they’d met and it was just as good as she’d imagined. Well, she didn’t really have his abs. Tris had his sides instead, her leggy embrace compressing his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs and paralysing his diaphragm – gripping him tight enough that she imagined she could feel his heart beating.

Could she go harder? Definitely, but she wasn’t actually interested in grinding his bones to make her bread.

“THREE!”

Scylla ignored the ref’s rapid count, choosing instead to peer down into those purple eyes. He’d bit back the scream, but he’d got that panicked look she’d seen before. Better controlled than most she’d squeezed like this but still…

There was something just so satisfying about the way he’d gone from being all ‘I’ll tame you’ to squirming frantically in seconds, trying to pry his way out and failing just as hard as the rest.

He was being smarter about it than some, not wasting his time on the lopsided struggle between his undoubtedly impressive biceps and her massive quads – because his arms versus her legs was a bet Tris would take every time.

Fortunately, pole dancing built some pretty impressive grip strength too. She was able to keep a hold of the ropes against his tugging, keep her leverage – back arched, hips thrusting and glutes engaged as she worked the scissors with deadly skill.

Though it’d be really cool if the ref would get out of her face here.

“FOUR!”

Tris might be new here, but she knew how this worked. If the ref got to five, that was it. So long and good night, thanks for playing.

As much fun as she was having, seeing whether she could squeeze Sevvie’s internal organs into new shapes, and as satisfying as finishing him like this would be - she wasn’t letting her debut match end in a disqualification.

The redhead milked the count all the way to a good four and a half before she released her python embrace, letting Severin enjoy the follow-up agonising fun of feeling his ribs (and innards) popping back into place.

But he could enjoy it somewhere else. Tris coiled her legs back and thrust them out in an explosive kick aimed straight at his chest, looking to get the masked man out of her face.

[DSX93]

Yeah. "Enjoy" it. Put some emphasis on those quotation marks. Severin never thought he'd be so relieved to be backing out from between a woman's thighs in a match, but here he was.

Relief would turn into fright soon. On the inside. Again, he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. Sure, she might be snacking now, but it wasn't the full meal. At least he had that.

That kick came from an angle, pushing him downward. Then his back hit the mat and -- fuck no.

Fuck! No!

He was damn near moving on autopilot, reaching up for the bottom rope so he could pull himself out of dodge. Out of the ring. He landed on the outside mat with a thud. Not yet out of the woods, but maybe having gotten himself a little time to recover.