A Professional Courtesy

[BlackAkuma]

There were chops, and then there were chops, and Wendy was proud to say that hers fell into the latter category. People loved to target her chest when they fought, thinking they were smart, as if her tits were some sort of weakpoint. Over the years, few things gave her more satisfaction than paying them back in kind, and she’d perfected her chopping technique to a fine science. The timing, the shift of weight, the precision, all of it came together to create this powerful blow that could leave even the hardest foes gasping.

Neith was feeling the effects of that expertise, and judging from the reaction Wendy got, it was damned effective. ”Oh, yeah.” She blew her hand and gave it a quick shake, getting rid of the slight tingle she’d gotten from the impact. ”First-timer.”

Wendy leaned forward and watched Neith slide down the wall as the pain did its work, turning her legs to jelly. Funny how that worked. You would expect a chop to hurt, but it was crazy how the pain made your body shut down. Far moreso when you weren’t ready for it, which Neith clearly wasn’t. This wouldn’t take her out for the entire match, but she would be easy picking for a little while. Time she intended to maximize.

”Oooh, you look tired.” She grabbed Neith under the shoulders and lifted her back up. ”Let’s get you back to bed.”

Wendy had more than a few ideas on what torture would come next, but all of them would be better on the mattress, for both of them - a softer surface with less chance of them banging their heads on the furniture, to say nothing of the property damage. That didn’t mean she was going to get Neith there in a gentle manner, though.

As soon as the Egyptian was standing, Wendy ducked down and pulled the woman over her shoulders with a fireman’s carry. She stood straight up, grabbed her by the neck with one hand and the thigh with the other, and proceeded to bend her with a torture rack, stretching her out as she made the short march across the room. ”Having fun yet?” She made sure to bounce a couple times along the way, too, making the experience even worse.

[HotWheels]

A couple more seconds passed before the fallen goddess made a sound and movement to indicate that she still lived. A grumpy groan was accompanied by her lifting one hand to her sore chest and one to her now doubly pained head. All she knew consisted of pain and her intense focus on it, but it trickled far enough away after a few seconds for her to get her mouth running again. "Who the fuck-", she hissed, in such a high-pitched whisper that it sounded like she was talking to herself. "-hits someone like that in a bedroom? What kind of stupid, brainless ape-"

Too dazed to realize that stupid and brainless were fairly redundant, the Egyptian beauty was also too dazed too to do anything more than let out a few more curses in a mixture of Arabic and English when she watched Wendy's feet step into her lolling vision and felt the woman grab her under the arms. She tried to fight, but when she did, she just stumbled forward into Wendy more than struck her. Since touching this bitch in any way that was not violent seemed the worst of crimes, she tried to just push herself away, only for Wendy to duck down and get her figure up underneath Neith's partially limp form.

"What the shit are you-" she began to ask, as she felt her feet leave the floor. Though somewhat glad to be free from her own weight, Neith felt a twinge of apprehension that Wendy would try to throw her somewhere like one of those real barbarians that made their way around the professional ring, and she squirmed to escape that fate. She had never done the lift and carry thing that so many of the unpleasantly bulky woman like Wendy would do for clients. It did nothing for her in terms of her own pleasure, and she hated working her arms.

For that reason, she didn't have any clue what Wendy had in mind next as she was adjusted on the woman's shoulders until she was dangling at a horribly awkward angle with all her appendages feeling like they were just loosely flailing. The hand on her neck annoyed the shit out of her, too. "Let me go!", she demanded, ready to rip into the best hissy fit she could muster if she felt herself at any risk of getting tossed.

No, not tossed. Bent. Without warning, her lithe form was pulled down over Wendy's shoulders by the grip on her neck and one on her leg, and Neith cried bloody murder as she felt it immediately in every inch of her back, stomach, and hips. With the first steps Wendy took, Neith flung arms and her one free leg in hopes to free herself, but she felt helpless to do more than get herself dropped flat to the floor. With that a real fear, she tried instead to reach her hands well enough to take the palm off of her neck, but after several more seconds and a couple of squats from her torturer that made her spine feel like it was coming in half, Neith just took to moaning and trying to survive.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy had a hearty, hard guffaw at Neith’s comment. This woman had some nerve. ”Are you serious? You. Kicked. Me. In. The. Face! You damn near knocked out a tooth, and you’re giving me guff about a chop?”

It was enough to keep her chuckling, even as she lifted her opponent up into the torture rack, but he laughs came to an end when the Egyptian filled the room with her ear-shattering shrieks. It was enough to ring bells in her head, and she had to fight the temptations to just drop her and drag her the rest of the way. ”Wow, you really can’t take what you dish out, huh?” Granted, it wasn’t like Wendy liked to get hit, either, but she could accept that it was sort of inevitable as a wrestler and just roll with it. Neith, it seemed, had grown way too used to either fighting men who wanted to get beat up or women who were too pathetic to avoid it. This might’ve been the closest thing to a real scrap she’d ever had.

”Got some bad news for you, honey.” She gave Neith a good bending for a few seconds, making sure to really squeeze the most of the hold, then turned to the bed and loomed over it. ”If you’ve got a problem with chops and torture racks, you might want to rethink on your whole LAW deal. Spoilers, this won’t be the last time you take these moves, trust me.”

Wendy dropped that little nugget of advice before she dipped down, popped up, and hurled Neith clean off her shoulders. She’d be coming down on the bed, so it wouldn’t be all that rough of a landing, but it would be funny to watch at the least. She wouldn’t leave her alone long, either, as she crawled up on the bed right after, to begin stalking her prey once more.

[HotWheels]

To Neith, her kick did not remotely equate in the hierarchy of unsuitable bedroom match rules to Wendy's chop. That was primarily because she had not been on the receiving end of her kick, and for her, she considered it just happenstance. An unlikely accident and a natural reflex brought on when Wendy crossed the line by sitting on her face too long. Actually, bringing it up just made the American sound like a "Petty brat...", and that did not surprise the Egyptian beauty even as she ached from the blow, which frankly rendered her accusations fangless.

The wailing and gnashing of teeth that took place as she got bent and stretched in the torture racks took the place of her words, however. Neith could not appreciate that the sound of her cries might even be annoying since she was experiencing the pain that brought on those cries. Wendy's words occasionally wiggled through the sounds and Neith's overbearing mental image of her spine moving out of place or a muscle fully tearing in her body somewhere, which were both pretty easily conjured when she was yanked in half like this. She would have loved to correct her and say she had signed with a contract caveat that specifically allowed her to avoid ugly brutes who would turn her clients off, but speaking sounded like a horrible challenge.

When Wendy pulled down on her harder, forcing the already-deep dimples in Neith's sides to deepen that much further, the exotic beauty went into a fresh fit. That fit mostly consisted of screaming and reaching down with the hand dangling toward the front of Wendy's body to try and grab hold of something, anything, that would force her to let go, but Neith could not find anything and just decided to fall limp instead. She still had her consciousness, yes, but she didn't care to have it right now. She didn't care about anything but relief.

She got it, but not in the way she wanted it. Still consumed by the pain she was feeling, Neith didn't know Wendy was going to fling her until she actually left the woman's grip, and the half-dozen words that included "floor" didn't make any sense beyond making it clear she would not abide by being thrown on the floor. In the next second of panic, however, Neith could see it was the bed she was headed for.

That didn't mean the landing was good. Neith hit on the side of a knee, palms that were too close together, and, ultimately, her face. It was there on the bed she lay, a sad sight face-down against the mattress with her hair disheveled and one-piece wedged a bit too deep after the awkward positioning of the torture rack. Only after five or six seconds did she move, and she only turned her head far enough to free her mouth to speak. "I will fucking crack your body in half." That was how hers felt.

[BlackAkuma]

The more this went on, the more Wendy wondered about this little contract that Neith had mentioned at the start of this little fracas. The Egyptian was in good shape - hell, great shape. While she wasn’t quite as muscular as Wendy, she wasn’t too far off. While a little time on the weights, she could see them being about dead even, and LAW definitely hired weaker looking women on the regular.

But she didn’t give off the vibe of someone who’d been through basic training. It was hard to see her running the ropes, or doing takedowns, or even doing some barebones chain wrestling. So how had she landed in LAW, of all places? Interesting questions. One that she suspected Neith wasn’t in a mood to answer.

She knew the look in Neith’s eyes, the searing hatred her gaze radiated when she craned her neck around. It was the look of a woman that would do all sorts of unspeakable things to her if she got half the chance. She’d been in different states of furious ever since the facesit, but this? Oh, something about the chop had brought out the beast. Wendy had to step aside, making sure the camera caught the best view of it.

Beautiful. She might even take a screen cap and use it for her phone’s wallpaper. ”Oh, I’m scared.” She pointed at her Cheshire grin and leaned in to give her a full view. ”See how scared I am?”

Ah. So satisfying. What now? Wendy had so many options. Neith’s midsection had to ache after that torture rack, so the temptation to saw her in half with a bodyscissors was strong. She could go for a facesit, but she kind of wanted to save that for the end of this match. Besides, she couldn't draw on the body part she had in mind next and facesit her at the time, as much as she wanted to try.

She did have an idea, though. A couple ones, actually.

Wendy crawled on the bed and took up a spot on Neith’s back, facing towards her leg and making sure her full weight came down to keep her in place. She reached out, and she suspected her opponent would think more pain was coming her way. Instead, her hands found the Egyptian’s sides, gripped tight, and started a slow, pressing massage, working at the deep tissue underneath all that flesh. While Wendy was no professional masseuse, she’d had clients try it on her enough to get a good feel for what worked and what did, and she suspected this treatment would feel divine after the rack nearly ripped her in two.

”Here’s the deal, honey.” She moved a little deeper, targeting the tops of the glutes. ”You’re about to get marked one way or the other. But if you stay quiet and still like a good girl, guess what? I’ll make it nice and easy for you, promise. You keep giving me that lip, though, and I’ll ramp up the rough stuff.”

Just to show what she meant, Wendy gave Neith a quick bounce, teasing what she could do if she got serious. ”What do you say? Think you can keep that trap shut for two minutes?”

Wendy suspected she knew the answer to that question, but it didn’t much matter. She wanted Neith to choose. That would make it all so much sweeter, one way or the other.

[HotWheels]

Neith knew what that little movement to the side meant without needing to see the camera gaping at her from across the room. All session wrestlers with half a brain knew how to get out of the way of a camera to let the best moments shine in full view of that lens. That was how they made money. That money was not, however, meant to come at Neith's expense. She was going to make Wendy eat that camera before this ended, if she didn't kill her first. No, better, she was going to have the camera eat Wendy up at her absolute worst moment.

For now, the temptation to reach up and poke the American in the eyes struck her, but that didn't seem like nearly enough pain to inflict. Worse, she would have to move her bent back to do that, and Neith did not care to bring herself any more pain. No, she merely needed to bide her time until she could split this bitch in two and never let go. She did lash out, briefly, as Wendy sidled up closer to her on the bed, but her only action was to rake her none-too-long nails across the stupid cow's thigh.

She should have done more. The bitch's weight brought a grumbling groan from the Egyptian's throat as she weighed down on her ailing back, and she reached back far enough that she looped a finger into Wendy's stupid shorts and tugged with the world's weakest tug.

But the groaning gave way to a sigh that she promptly regretted.

Was the whore massaging her? Trying to cover up the pleasure in that sigh, Neith started barking. "What, you have some sort of freaky kink? Did you do all this to hold me down so you can touch me? You've got it as bad for me as any client, hypocrite." She did not, however, move a muscle in opposition.

...Not until Wendy proposed her little deal, anyway. She dared to think Neith would just lie and take her drawing all over her ass like this? Did she think she was some sort of submissive pushover like those damn models she probably got her kicks out of destroying? It was possibly the most palpable insult of their entire row...even moreso than the facesit.

The Egyptian's rage manifested slowly, her legs curling up towards her butt and her elbows slowly sliding under her in tension. Then, it all burst. "You think-" She moved all at once, bucking, kicking, pushing, flailing, thrashing. "-that I'm scared of you!? That I am going to lie here and take any of your shit!?"

[BlackAkuma]

Yup, there was the sigh. ”I heard that.”

It was oh-so very important that Neith knew that Wendy knew just how much she liked the touch. She wouldn’t have done this sort of thing most of the time, preferring to just dish out pain to her victims. When she did go for pleasure, it was only the kind that she could enjoy more on her end, and who knew, they might get to that point, too. But for now, Wendy was getting the biggest kick just out of making Neith hate something that she would’ve otherwise enjoyed.

The protest got another full laugh out of her. ”Yeah, I got a freaky kink, don’t act like you’re any better. You can’t do this sort of stuff if you ain’t into it at least a little, money or not. Clients can spot fakers a mile away.” That being said, she didn’t deny the second part - she wouldn’t say she ‘had it bad’ for Neith, but she wouldn’t lie, she could think of far worse ways to spend her time than caressing this hot little body of hers…

Neith might’ve felt different, though. Especially after Wendy made her that rather generous offer, one that she knew the Egyptian would refuse. It was designed to piss her off, and yeah, it did the job, sending the woman into a furor that threatened to rattle the bed off its hinges. Even with her superior position, Wendy had to spread her legs and grind down hard, doing her best to keep the struggling under control.

”Oh, honey,” Wendy gave Neith’s jiggling buttocks a quick slap. ”I don’t think that, I know it. But fine, if you want to do this the hard way, we’ll do it the hard way. Don't scream so loud this time, you'll get room service called.”

The hard way, as it turned out, involved Wendy reaching out, wrapping one of her arms around Neith’s flailing leg, and pulling it straight up, leaning back to put mounting pressure on her back. She wouldn’t go full hog with the move just yet, testing Neith’s flexibility and asserting dominance for now, but it would still hurt plenty, no doubt.

”And this is a Boston Crab, by the way. Most people do it with both legs, but me, I like just grabbing one. Get more pressure that way, plus it frees up an arm for other stuff.” To illustrate her point, she reached over and plucked up one of the markers.

[HotWheels]

Fuck the continued truth behind her words. Neith didn't want to hear how Wendy was getting her rocks off by playing with the Egyptian's curvy body, but Neith had done the same after crushing a client or opponent into oblivion. But that meant Wendy believed that she had crushed Neith into oblivion, and that would not do at all. The dark menace continued to paint her raspy voice. "Shut up and keep your slutty fantasies to yourself," Neith "warned" her, while flat and helpless on her stomach.

She remained, to her great chagrin, helpless on her stomach even during the throes of her finest tantrum yet. Whatever Wendy's current advantage, she could not abide by the big bitch trying to turn her into some submissive victim. The goddess should never submit in any situation; that was the whole point. And that she couldn't stop being Wendy's seat in this impromptu match jabbed needles into every peeve in the Egyptian's arsenal. The slap on her ass just added to it. "Don't you touch m-"

The e on me became exactly the scream that Wendy warned against and filled the room. Neith was fairly flexible, though perhaps not as much as she should have been given her frame. She could, however, pull some of that contortion shit that clients enjoyed so much and made her body look so fantastic on camera. But when she bent that way, she could set her own limits.

As Wendy bent Neith's leg back so far that it dangled over her own back, making her crotch, her hip, the small of her back, and every muscle feel like they would separate, Neith was in agony even partially bent. She tried to bend the rest of her body with the angle of the leg, but Wendy still had her flat. Her hands and free leg scuffed against the mattress once her screaming had died down; the Egyptian beauty just tried to find a position to lessen the angle of her leg before Wendy bent her further. "Put my leg down you...you..." She couldn't think of an unkind enough word in English, so she tried one in Arabic while her fingers pried at Wendy's shorts again.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy didn’t know a whole lot about Neith. She didn’t know where she was from for sure, though she could hazard a solid guess with all the Egyptian finery. She didn’t know how old the woman was, or what circumstances led her to Japan, or what drew her into this life in the first place. She wasn’t even sure if ‘Neith’ was her real name - it could’ve been, sure, but most likely it was just a pseudonym she went under. Wendy was one of the few session wrestlers out there who ever went by their real names, figuring she might as well since she was on TV, anyway.

But she did know one important thing about Neith, without question: The woman was not a switch.

Just being on the bottom was driving her crazy. Granted, Wendy didn’t like it, either, but she could tell that Neith absolutely loathed her position, down to a molecular level. Just know that made the whole deal even sweeter, and spurred her on as she moved from the mental torment onto the physical, getting that leg and bending Neith back, back, back. Testing her flexibility more with every second.

”Goddess?” She completed Neith’s sentence with a snort. ”That’s what you’re trying to say? ‘Cause there’s only one goddess here right now, and it doesn’t like it’s you.” Even as she spoke, she ran the marker along the contours of Neith’s thigh, teasing the space between her legs, hints of something more, a lot more that could come…

…but nah, not for now. As much as she liked this teasing, there was only so much of it she could do, as she struggled to keep Neith under control. She waited for the woman to calm down a few notches before she snagged the marker’s cap with her teeth and popped it off. ”Now, as I recall, I promise certain designs down here. So let’s get to work, huh?” She smacked her lips and leaned in, making sure she got the best view of her work. ”Hope your next few clients are big into jeansitting.”

She’d said something about a For Sale sign, right? That would be first up. It wasn’t the easiest thing to get right on Neith’s supple skin, but she managed to draw a decent one of the right cheek. With that work done, she let Neith’s leg go and moved onto the other cheek, preparing to put on the finishing touch.

[HotWheels]

Once more, despite Neith's nature and internal declaration that she was not the type to cry, her rage poured from that same pool of her emotional well that would have had many others bawling. All of her fighting to escape just led her leg into more of an agonizingly bent position, and between the pain in her leg itself which grew more tingly and numb by the second and the pain already panging from the torture rack, she was again reaching her shallow limits. Her fighting and scuffing slowly began to turn into sounds of rage intermixed with moans and hands running through her own hair or gripping the sheets to try and withstand the torture. She couldn't get the thought out of her head either, as she failed to escape, that those damn worthless models and malicious clients would watch this and take notes. Plus, they would see her losing. That was the worst crime.

So she continued to try and save face, trying to counter every word that came from the American bitch, and her own cries were the only things interrupting her. "You are just a fucking lucky bitch who caught me after a long work day of clients who chose me over you! And who would want you!? You are as attractive as a cargo van and as refined as a stray dog! You're nothing but a-" Her berating continued, becoming less and less sensible and effective with each word, until she was just growling by the time she could (barely) feel Wendy marking on her over the pain.

She turned to a few repetitions and variations of how Wendy was a two-cent prostitute who was going to spend a lot of nights in the hospital answering questions about all the markings all over her before she managed to summon the strength to start trying to grip the sheets and crawl away again.