A Professional Courtesy

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy wasn’t sure what was worse - the pain, or the taunting.

The pain was bad. Real bad. It felt like two steel pylons were crushing her at the waist, digging deep into her body and working away her bones. Neith had that rare kind of power, the sort that you wouldn’t ever think was possible on a body like this. Raw, unrelenting, oppressive power that made every breath a chore, that sapped your strength and made everything shut down. As weird as it was, she almost wished she could’ve passed out a moment, if only so she could avoid the agony of being bisected.

But as much as that hurt, it was just pain. Pain she could deal with. But this bitch and her big mouth, and her laughing, and the way she looked at Wendy like she’d been in control this whole time and hadn't just had the soul chopped out of her a couple minutes ago, it was a driving her right up the wall, and she knew it was only going to get worse.

Her suspicions were confirmed as Neith reached out for what she thought was a choke or something. Instead, those strong, delicate hands went to her nose and mouth, pinching her airways shut with a hand smother. Not the most embarrassing kind of thing to endure, but everything was insufferable when it came from the Egyptian. Wendy struggled, even took one of her hands away from Nieth’s legs to push against the grip, but there was no dislodging it with her feeble hands. She’d only just gotten her breath back from the breast smothering, and having it taken away again so soon exacted a toll.

She was rolled over in the next moment, but that didn’t mean she was free of Neith’s legs, as her tormentor simply adjust the hold into a figure-four variation. Tighter, snugger, more secure. Wendy continued to thrash about, and even tried to dislodge Neith’s arms with a few wild slaps, but it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Her muffled screams only wasted more of her precious breath and weakened her further, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from giving Neith a look of pure venom

[HotWheels]

Oh that look. That look made Neith break into the most disturbingly satisfied chuckles as possible. It took a few seconds for her to earn it. After securing her hand smother, Wendy fought her, but Neith had enough of a squeeze on and had rendered her weak enough that her hands stayed attached after a struggle. That proved to be the easy part. Rolling proved a much more difficult challenge, since she only ever did this with those wispy men and women who weighed what she imagined to be a good bit less than Wendy. Though she had imagined it looking graceful, it did not; she had to first roll on her side with Wendy between her legs, then scoot awkwardly on her elbow and hip until she could shove herself up. But the point remained that she got up onto a knee with Wendy still knit between her now folded legs. It quite hurt her back.

But Wendy's look made it worth it. Neith let her features go, with a little parting slap to add insult to injury. "Don't look so pouty. You know you would pay me for this if you didn't already hate me," she purred, before nonchalantly grabbing her own foot and yanking up on it to make the squeeze that much tighter before she settled into place comfortably again. Now was less for the pain, more for the restraint. She had another idea for bringing Wendy to the brink of unconsciousness again.

It involved her getting the marker at the same time, however. Wiggling in happiness at her own idea, since Wendy seemed guaranteed to be the type to hate it, the Egyptian beauty again leaned down and wiggled her breasts in Wendy's face. "You nuzzled them before... enjoy." She again worked to capture Wendy's face between her tits, and at the same time, she thrust her legs free from around the bitch's waist. After curling her body up, she pushed forward with her legs and let Wendy's head go as she slid forward, leaving on her stomach above Wendy's head on the mattress. Once there, she glanced back long enough to get a grasp on their relative positions before she snapped out with her legs again, trying to trap the bitch's head between her thighs, the back of her head against Neith's ass. At the same time, she made her reach for the marker.

She never considered that it might not work, giving a clearly dangerous woman a moment's respite. She only convinced herself that it would, and that it would look brilliant on camera.

[BlackAkuma]

Yeah, the laughing was the worst part of this whole thing. Being without oxygen, that she could kind of get used to. No one had ever tried to smother her out with their goddamn hands before, but you don’t get to build up a reputation for facesitting without taking some of your own medicine from time to time. She could hold her breath for a while, she could endure the pain, she could push through.

But what grated her, what sent her right up the wall, was that stupid laugh. Neith really thought she was in total control here, like Wendy might as well have been another one of her silly little clients, paying triple digits to get beat up and squeezed by some cosplayer with a goddess complex. ”Oh, fuck right off!” Wendy snapped back after her mouth was freed, speaking as best she could while she refilled her lungs ”Like I’d pay for someone who can’t even take what she dishes-”

Wendy was about to go for a whole rant, but it was cut off when Neith ramped up the pressure once more, compacting her lungs and ruining her efforts to breathe. She closed her eyes, tried to cope with the pain, but there was no getting out of the Egyptian’s grasp, and the situation wasn’t about to improve.

A breast smother, another one. Brief as it was, it put Wendy into another panic, making her shriek into her foe’s flesh, before she let her go and started slithering up her body. The room was comfortable and the air conditioning was great, but it couldn't stop a thin sheen of sweat from building up between them, one that made the sliding that much easier. Neith was all over her, pressing against her face, moving along her chest, sliding forward, going higher, and then…

”Gah!” Wendy had a short wail when the legs came down on her skull, treating them to the same exacting pressure that her midsection had gone through and bending her neck at a painful ankle. Real panic set in now. This was a hold she was familiar with, one she’d used to get more than her fair share of taps, and she knew how effective it could be when the legs involved had real power behind them, as Neith’s clearly did. She needed an out.

Though she’d been thoroughly worked over by the Egyptian, she wasn’t out of power and she certainly wasn’t out of options. Wendy reached up, wrapped her arms around Neith’s legs, and began the arduous process of sitting up while in her opponent’s grasp. She sat up, wearing Neith on her shoulder like a cape, and made it to one knee, then the other. Good progress so far. If she could keep it up, maybe she could turn this into something useful.

[HotWheels]

Perfect. Foolproof, and Neith was far from a fool, at that. As she slithered her way toward the head of the bed and past Wendy's head, no opposition followed until her legs were good and secure around the big head of the big bitch. Her legs had an excellent squeezing angle, capable of putting pressure on Wendy's neck, too, and as she crossed her ankles over the top of Wendy's stomach, she continued her taunting. "All mine all over again, sweet one," she said, having given up her insults for the pet names she would give particularly pliable clients. Except she wasn't talking only about Wendy, but also about the marker she plucked from the headboard.

It was a fortune that she did, because in the next moment, her comfortable perch came out from under her. Neith gasped and caught on her hands as she felt her hips being lifted, and after she got just enough balance to keep from toppling over entirely, she wheeled her head around to see Wendy starting to rise. Not just to a seated position, but she was making it a knee, too. The insulting words returned quickly. "Don't you dare, bitch!" No one, short of the biggest male clients she entertained, had gotten this far into an escape from one of Neith's applied headscissors.

And her ankles were slipping. No, this would not happen. Fuming again and abandoning the marker, Neith powered past the ache in her back while she arched it and started folding her legs, trying to keep balance on her hands as she did so. Tucking her calf underneath Wendy's chin and her own ankle into the crook of the opposite knee, she formed another figure four with her legs and reached back to grab her free foot, trying to form a tight, leggy noose squeezed right against the front of Wendy's throat to stop her progress. It felt like taming a beast. "Stop, you beast!", she demanded, echoing her own thoughts as she squeezed and her legs bulged.

[BlackAkuma]

And now Neith was giving her sweet names. Honestly, Wendy preferred being compared to farm animals. At least with that, she could throw something back on the same level and not feel weird about it. People had been making fun of her size ever since she hit her growth spurt, and just about all of them wound up spending time under the body they’d mocked.

But ‘sweet one’? What was she supposed to do with that? To make matters worse, it was actually a little hot, and the last thing she wanted to do was give Neith even a hint that she was enjoying this.

Nope, nope. She was getting out of this, right now.

Up, up, up, Wendy continued rising, pushing her body to the max as she continued her rise. Neith protested, but that was just a sign that she was on the rise track. If she could get up, if she could stand, then maybe she could fall back, squashing the haughty Egyptian under her weight, and get free of the hold. Not something any of her clients would ever do, that was for damn sure.

She’d just put one foot on the bed when Neith switched the hold up, trading it in for something more effective. Her legs curled in, a calf slid in under her neck, and suddenly her neck wasn’t just being crushed, it was being squeezed from every angle. The cliche was to call it a noose, but that was really the best word for it, as the legs seemed to clamp down the more she struggled, cutting off air and leaving her gagging.

Wendy fought hard, but there was only so much she could do from this position, and with her air supplies already low, she was running out of options. She tried to unclasp the legs, and when that didn’t work she tried to smack them away, and when that didn’t work her body started to fail once again, slipping back down to her knees and leaning forward as she continued to pry with weakening hands.

[HotWheels]

Shit, she was a horse. But not in the actual sense that she did look like one; she only held the same strength. As she fumbled to get her legs situated correctly, she thought that Wendy would be up almost completely in her feet in time, and Neith could only imagine the pain of having the bitch throw her from her shoulders. Where were the feeble, fake muscles of the fitness models? The pathetic rolling and begging of a client or porn slut? No one should match her move for move in this setting, and especially not anyone with this strength.

But Neith got her legs locked in just. in. time. She could feel the bend of Wendy's neck tucked against her calf. Neith could only hang on with one hand grasping Wendy by the back and one still holding her foot, and the sound that came from Wendy told her that she was saved. She held on, the color returning to her face, and just kept her legs in place tight around Wendy's neck. The lack of oxygen did the rest of the work, and soon, Neith was being lowered back to the mattress so she could perch on both hands again.

"See? Isn't it just easier to give into a body like mine?", she asked, as she had asked about a hundred different clients. With Wendy actually posing a threat, however, it felt as if it meant more. Once Wendy was gasping and slapping and prying from her knees, Neith again stretched her legs out to end the choke (she did have some limits, after all) and resume the straight legged squeeze as she draped over the length of Wendy's back. Her toes could almost touch the mattress, and she used that to further firm up her posture, even placing her hands on Wendy's ass for balance.

Oh. Oh. And Wendy's poor ailing face was right to the camera now, was it not? Neith glanced behind her. It certainly was. Time to enjoy this. Time to end this, or come very close to it at the least. She grew weary after Wendy had nearly beaten and flattened her, but she had to pretend as if she was ending on her terms alone. She was now willing to give Wendy a restful sleep, at least until she needed to force her to tap at the end of it all. "Now, sweet, take one last chance to touch the legs that are about to end your night," she offered. "And do me a favor. Aim those pleading eyes right at the camera for your goddess."

[BlackAkuma]

‘Shut up, bitch!’

‘Kiss the biggest part of my ass!’

‘I am gonna shove the stupid tiara thing up your ass and break it off, I swear to God!’

That and a dozen other insults ran through Wendy’s mind and she would’ve loved nothing more than to vocalize any one of them. But that was a little difficult to do, what with the calf did into her windpipe and rapidly approaching the threat of unconsciousness.

She couldn't see Neith from this position, but she didn’t need to in order to know that the bitch was smiling back there. She would, if the situation was reversed. Hell, she would’ve been using the Egyptian’s ass like bongo drums, and now that she thought about it, she wished she’d done that when she had the chance. Now, though, it was out of reach - she was the fly trapped in the web, and everything she did just made her situation that much worse.

It didn't matter how strong she was, how hard she could hit, or how much stamina she was working with. She needed oxygen, crucially, and her body was shutting down with each passing second. Neith switched it up, downgrading from the brutal figure-four to the traditional method, but that didn’t matter much at this point. Wendy didn’t have the power left to fight out, could only paw at the legs that trapped her, thighs that she could barely see anymore through all the spots in her vision.

Through the murky haze, she could make out the blinking like out of the camera and see it peering down on her, getting the perfect shot that Neith was looking for. She wanted to turn her head away, cover her face, do anything but give her opponent what she wanted, but that ball wasn’t in her court. There was only one thing she could do at this point, whether she liked it or not.

Wendy passed out.

[HotWheels]

Neith did smile. It took the smile a moment to return, but once she could tell Wendy would go nowhere, she knew she no longer had anything to worry about. Or she wouldn't, if she put Wendy to sleep. She had gotten too comfortable during her earlier bout of domination, and for that, Wendy had...unfortunately found what Neith would refer to as a brief chance to overwhelm the goddess. When she posted this video, she would write that exactly into the blurb. Regardless, she needed to put the bitch down, and she needed to enjoy it.

And did she ever. With the straightening of her legs, leaving the bitch's head melded between the curves of her thighs and the crook of her knees, the struggles subsided, and that was before Neith had started squeezing to any real degree. "Already worn out by me?" she asked, kneading at the top of Wendy's glutes. Her smooth rear felt good in her hands, far different from when it had been perched on her face. People were always hotter when they were suffering between her thighs. "Let's get you to bed, then." Her already hardened legs tightened ten percent. Twenty. Thirty. Bands of feminine muscle bore down on Wendy's head, and an orgasmic sound filled Neith's throat.

At that, Wendy was gone. Neith could tell so easily now after all the years with the way her body seemed to stiffly settle beneath the goddess'. Not interested in paying a hospital bill, Neith quickly let her go, and she fell atop the collapsing American all in one motion. Neith sighed, pleased, and shared a long stare with the camera as if she had just followed up on an inside joke. After that, she grabbed a handful of the ass now positioned beneath her breasts, giving it only a few light pats to ensure she didn't wake the slut. "Enjoy my artwork, my sweet."

Briskly, before Wendy could stir, Neith went to quick work. She spoke sweetly to an imagined audience about her coming victory, her dominance, and her thoughts on Wendy's "pitifully" sleeping form as she fetched her marker, set up behind Wendy's ass like a canvas, and proceeded to draw on it. She decided on English this time, writing good little jobber on one cheek. She left the other one intact out of the goodness of her heart and the good mood she now found herself in. Once that was done, the once-more-humming goddess pulled Wendy over to work at her breasts, leaving one with her prettiest signature in English (the prettiest she could manage with a marker, anyway) and the other one saying "fake" in Arabic. She would leave Wendy searching Google for that one. An almost maniacal giggle parted her lips.

After that, many seconds had passed, and Neith could see the telltale signs of Wendy's rousing. Again peering to the camera, she started patting on the woman's cheek and pinching her lips slightly. "I do believe it's a goddess' time to repay," she said, her voice nothing but sex appeal. She swung, rubbing a bit on her still-sore back when she did but trying to hide it from the camera, and only settled once she was in the exact same position Wendy held her in earlier: her rear ready to drop onto that pretty face, her legs folding around Wendy's arms, and her feet ready to push the woman in deeper. Only then did she look back to watch Wendy awaken. She would let her say whatever she wished, and then, she would bury her.

She pulled her leotard a touch more tightly into her ass, too, and wiggled it for the audience.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy was out, but not truly unconscious, at least for the whole time. Time had a funny way of passing when you were knocked out, with mere seconds feeling like minutes and minutes passing like hours, and while she was unable to get a grasp of the way things passed outside her closed eyes, she was still able to feel certain things. It was as if she was stuck in the time between waking and sleeping, as if she’d woken up too early and didn’t have the energy to fully rouse. She could tell that someone was moving on top of her, and she barely recognized that person to be Neith, with a tinge of the burning hatred that came along with it.

She was also dimly aware that something was poking at her butt. It took her a second to realize that it was a marker, and what that meant. The cool touch of some liquid on her skin, drying up as the marker passed along. Her cheeks clenched and unclenched, the barest hint of a twitch, but that was all the resistance she could muster. Not enough to stop what was happening, not even close.

Wendy was flipped over a moment later, and the same treatment was given to her breasts, easy targets with the way they spilled out from her top. She was becoming more and more aware now, but she could still only sigh and moan as her body was made into a living canvas, along with the occasional squirm. Still helpless, still easy prey, as Neith used her skin for an arts and crafts project.

And through it all, she heard that stupid humming, that silly voice, and the irritating giggle. God, she wanted to throw Neith off a pier.

As she came to once more, Neith started to move again, though Wendy wasn’t sure what the plan was at first. She could feel legs wrapped around her arms, trapping them, and feet at the back of her head, but what was that about it? The positioning didn’t make a whole lot of sense, until she opened her eyes…then opened them even wider.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Wendy’s first reaction was to struggle, to try and dislodge Neith, but that was the thing about facesitting. It might’ve been a hard position to get someone in during an actual fight, but if she could lock it, it was damn near impossible to fight your way out of, especially with someone who knew what they were doing - and yeah, as much as she hated to admit it, the Egyptian was a pro. She kicked, she bucked, she squirmed, she put the bed’s weight limits to the test, but it did nothing but tire her out. She wasn’t going anywhere, and they both knew it.

So, might as well go out swinging. ”I’m getting you back for this, I fucking swear! One day, you’re just gonna be walking along, minding your own business, and I’m just gonna walk up and totally wreck your shit! You hear me? As long as you’re in Japan, you’ve got fucking bad day coming sometime, believe me! Just! Fucking! Wait!”

[HotWheels]

It appeared as if Wendy had nothing to say. Initially, at least. Neith watched that adorable moment where her pitifully unconscious prey roused, realized her circumstances in a panic, and started her protests. Wendy's first protests were surprisingly not verbal. Maybe she had realized that as long as the goddess held power in their scuffle, they would roll off her like water on a duck's back. The fight in and of itself proved impressive, with the bed sounding, at this point, like it might collapse to the floor with how the two of them had rattled it. Someone needed to replace the slats. But for all her fighting, Neith, wholly experienced in these circumstances even with men nearly twice her weight, had to do little more than shift the weight distribution between her feet and her knees and move her hands to stay atop the bucking bitch.

Apparently, Wendy figured out she would not escape, because the dam cracked and words came pouring out. The threats had become so sensational that Neith again giggled with glee. "You had best be glad you're pretty, because you are one sore, pathetic loser, and I'm your goddess." With the last words spoken, the beautiful Egyptian leaned back. Really leaned back, turning her body at an angle and propping on her hands, so that her entire weight bore down on and pushed back against Wendy's face.

She didn't bury the woman fully as in their earlier facesitting exchange; no, here, she left Wendy's eyes visible. But the thin line of her leotard's thong mashed against the American's nose and the rest of her ass lay heavy against her mouth and chin. Neith didn't want her unconscious; she wanted her to tap out again. She wanted surrender, because surrender always proved so much sweeter. And Neith could claim she hadn't tapped out to the facesitting earlier. "Give me that submission you know your goddess wants. You've lost," she almost sang, as she whipped her hair and made herself look as casually domineering as possible.