Tiaras and Tricorns: Angelina Tarrant vs Madeleine Citronelle (Apex Qualifier)

[Malkavia]

Angelina’s crop top lay crumpled on the mat a few feet behind Madeleine. She was aware of the article of clothing in the same way she was aware of the rest of the ring—framed in her mind like a painting, glowing, while the beast with a thousand eyes leaned in on all sides, on her, on her sweet. And all the lovely things Madeleine could coax from her.

She had begun to follow a rhythm—hold the pressure on the neck, press inside until her palm crushed ever more swollen, ever more wet lips, then slide out come hither, while she breathed in slowly through her nose and out through her lips. It was almost meditative. Tears welled in Angelina’s eyes, and her mouth worked, trembly and wet and (for the most part) quiet. It made Madeleine’s gut curl, but it was the eyes from the Beast that made her gut burn hungry.

In this state, entranced as she was with Angelina’s fading eyes, Madeleine did not immediately notice the scar. When she did, however, her eyes widened.

“Oooooh.” Grab and curl, slide and pull, back sticky on Madeleine’s knee. The rhythm of making love to Angelina carried on in spite of the distraction. Even so, her heavy, breath-filled speech was thick with concern. The Countess rubbed her thumb along the surface of the scar, feeling the rough tissue as if the wound might still be tender.

“You poor sweet pea. What happened to you here?”

[Monsy]

Cold arena winds turned warm, and bathed her in heat. The lack of a mattress didn’t stop her from acting like she was on one. A small one, hanging off the end. She couldn’t see the action with her eyes, but never needed to. Being entered by Madeleine’s hand burned into her conscious, and subconscious until she worked up a dozen fantasies, then more. She hitched again with another hither. This one tied a knot in her stomach, the flickers reached her fingers to make them claws. Her toes curled, just as the slick became a schlap. The pink lace bunched up as it stretched to Madeleine’s beat. Her nipples hardened into her bra, and an itch from sweat and friction was about to make her feral.

Then those earlier claws became a clutch. She suddenly felt truly naked when the thumb washed over. The shrivelled up portion still had a curve, which felt softer and twice as delicate. Her little pink button. “H-Hah—?” Angelina tucked her chin, sharply, which pinched the hand in the slot. She’s somewhere between a ticklish giggle and befuddlement, with her thoughts melting at the mouth into babbles, and her eyes sunk into her head. She closed them. Then starting panting. Just when did the crowd get here? And why the FUCK do they watch so closely?

“Y-Ya... Uhm.. No.” Angelina put her arm around the one touching her neck by the elbow and wedged to make it bend properly. It allowed her to sit up sharply, powered solely by adrenaline and a hot stew of thoughts that felt like a head-splitting ring. At about half-way of sitting up, she turned shoulder inward towards Madeleine, then shoved on her shoulders and threw her weight to make them collapse. The landing would be semi-awkward, with Angelina’s legs and hips by one side of Madeleine’s weight, then laid diagonally so her head was by Madeleine’s shoulder. She threw one leg over, dripping from between her legs, still panting with an ever-growing knot inside her gut.

She had a gentleness when she was clearly trembling. But for her face, which was marked by those glassy eyes springing a small link at the inner-corner, with two droplets flowing by her nose, and teeth bared, a burning dark-red blush, clearly trying to work up the snarl while losing breath. She mouthed a moan, but cut it short. Her shoulders bobbed along with her chest. “I’ll show ya… first fuckin’ hand…h-hah… if ya ask me that again.” Both hands went to Madeleine’s neck, but they were hardly squeezing. Holding. One shoulder slouched with a pinching eye. Another long exhale out her nose. “Ya get me, dorkstick?”

[Malkavia]

A rosy flush had spread up Madeleine’s throat, and she leaned towards Angelina’s face, her lips slightly parted and curved into a cat-like smile. Her eyes were llidded, and she took slow breaths that filled her completely, making her breasts heave and fall. When Angelina started to pant, Madeleine made a noise somewhere between a whisper, a coo, and a hum. Hmmmmrrr…

Forgetting her opponent would cost Madeleine. As she got lost in the glittering sensation in her chest and the heat between her legs, Angelina thrust her shoulder and rolled. The two of them toppled to the mat, which was cool against Madeleine’s back—in contrast to the woman radiating heat and strawberry perfume as she straddled Madeleine’s gut. The breath caught inside Madeleine’s throat for one beat, as she froze, but then she remembered to breathe and settled comfortably on her back.

“Ssssssh. Of course. Of course I hear you.” The fingers around Madeleine’s neck felt more like a collar than a chokehold. They offered just enough pressure to make her toes curl as her skin tingled with pleasure. She arched her neck, eyes half lidded, curled like her hungry smile as her tongue ran over her front teeth.

Her right hand had remained between Angelina’s legs. Her thumb slipped up the left side of her clitoris, swollen and trembling with her hips, flicked over it as if to tease its shaking, then pressed down the slippery right slope with her thumb-pad. The crowd could see in Madeleine’s face how she savored each hitch and studder she could elicit with this simple, gentle motion.

“And feel you. And see you.” And she did, intensely. How did Madeleine wish to be seen? It was a question she asked often because no answer ever seemed sufficient. However, what she felt now was close—her cheeks burning, skin soft and sensitive, with a doll this sweet crying at her touch. Perhaps it could have been perfect, if the pirate weren't on top.

“And what I see is the sweetest little kitten.”

Madeleine’s legs slipped around Angelina’s waist. She locked her ankles. The motion pulled Madeleine’s fingers out of Angelina, cold and wet, but not for long. She scissored her rival’s waist, pulling tight so that the muscles in her thighs and calves stood out in sculpted relief. A hot spike of pain up Madeleine’s knee. It was pain and something else, something that slithered up the inside of her thigh and made her own groin damp as it pressed into her rival’s side. Then—she used her hips to heave Angelina on her back, the Countess perpendicular to her body with one leg over and one leg under.

Even from this distance, even through the strawberry, Madeleine could smell Angelina’s pussy. The pungent, almost dirty smell made Madeleine groan, softly, barely audible, as she reinserted her fingers inside. From there, she would slip her free fingers through Angelina's hair, scruff her scalp, while she squeezed Angelina's bruises with her thighs, and resumed slipping in and out.

[Monsy]

Pull up one shoulder and the other wants to sink. Then the shoulder blades. Then her entire spine— Melting closer and closer. A minute more and she’d be laying on Madeleine. The breaths turn longer as she holds it in like tides, and she can feel a burn inside her bruises, her lungs — slippery, and the thumb made her do little kicks. She whines, and tries riding her finger while holding her face steady, though with a steadily increasing slack jaw. This was nothing, she told herself.

Just breathe in deeper. Let it out. Take a break from growling, compose and…
‘Sweetest little kitten’
… She choked… Fuck…
Angelina fell down in a sweaty heap. First on her side, where she grit her teeth, groaned and got on her elbow. Her hair was now in a heap, half-covering her face where she seemed so… Dizzied. Rest her scorching pirate heart. The only thing worse was the longing. The open breeze made her spread legs have this constant shakiness. Just enough to look like she was cold. It throbbed..

“O-Ow…o-Ow…” And her waist shrunk in their squeeze. The bruises tightened and she was a millimetre from crying openly. She wanted release so bad, and was beginning to whimper for it without any sensation. Both hands had grabbed chunks of her hair, and she began pulling them tight, then forced onto her back where she arched, and broke into quiet sobs. Her gut was squeezed until she couldn’t breathe through there. She began softly quavering. Her spinearched until just the shoulder-blades were down. “It hurts… I-It really hurts-!”

Then through her hair curtains that she squeezed tighter, she felt full again, with her drooling sex fully stuffed by Madeleine’s fingers, stretched to accommodate and then squeezed as Angelina’s hips rose off the canvas. “Gh-hah!” Her thighs closed on it, and she convulsed like experiencing a small orgasm. “A-Ahh.. n-nheh..” Both hands went down towards her pussy, but stopped short of stopping Madeleine’s hand. They had a way of opening her up, nice and wide until she couldn’t feel them. Every spot was a sweet spot. “M-mmegh..”

The panting got louder and audible. Her stomach started inhaling no matter the squeeze and her chest too. Her hips steadily sunk down, then up, and she rocked onto her toes, then flat foot. Her head shook, then rolled back, fighting it. Prolonging. The canvas became her mattress that she scratched, and she slowly rose with her head still bound by Madeleine’s grab. Then hopelessly drawn to Madeleine’s technique, finger-fucking her, with the nicknames echoing, the pain reaching everywhere, and despite everyone watching, her lust to win, and the NEED to turn her fortunes around… Something just… tipped.

Her elbows slammed. She hitched the next breath, dropped flat, then began to moan consistently after fighting off the first.. “M-Mad…eh…leine…” It was soft, girlish and breathy. Her knees were lifting and the legs folded, and twitched. The panting got violent, and her back was curling more than it should. Aching matched with an alcohol high. Tears from agony, and drool from losing self-control.

[Malkavia]

For Madeleine, the moment was pure flow. She was listening with her whole body, using every ounce of her attention to feel for Angelina’s needs and insecurities. If a flick of her thumb made Angelina whimper, then she remembered that spot. She'd remember the feel of her hand inside Agelina, the shape of her opponent’s body between her legs, the look on her face. And she would come back to that flick or thrust or pinch, but sweeter or more forceful.

Their movements had become ragged. Angelina's hips thrust into a tight bridge, then buckled from fatigue, and trembled from stimulation. By now Madeleine’s strokes had become forceful enough that the hemline on Angelina’s panties chafed her wrist, so she used her free hand to push them to her knees.

Angelina wanted her, and it was worth all the violence against her head and knees and all the rest of it to see that. She could elicit all this with a flick, a thrust, a squeeze—from her doll. Her lovely, sweet, talented doll.

And then she said Madeleine’s name. A shudder ran through Madeleine. Her free hand, draped delicately on Angelina’s bra, clenched into a fist, and her chin trembled. Two thin tears ran down both of the Countess’s cheeks as she smiled the widest she'd yet smiled at LAW. The audience was pure incandescence on her skin.

“Yes.” Madeleine squeezed her thighs hard enough to send red-hot fissures of pain through her bad knee to her hip, which she thrust against Angelina at the same time that her marathon between Angelina’s hips became a sprint. Messy, sloppy. Wet from Angelina splashed against the inside of her elbow, and her side ached from fatigue. But she grinned, grinned, grinned. Yet still, for all the moans and spasms and bucking and crying, she didn't didn’t finish, this sweet kitten, and the wave passed, and Madeleine slowed and got control of herself and curled down to Angelina’s ear, which, playfully, she nipped.

“You’re doing lovely, sweet.” Madeleine’s breath filled the space between her face and Angelina’s ear, pleasantly warm. “Come on, though, Angelina. It’s time. On the count of three.”

Angelina’s hair is richer in scent, so sweet with strawberry and sweat it was almost overwhelming. “One.” Madeleine’s fingers curled through the hair, grabbed her scalp, and pulled her back to expose her neck. “Two.”

There was one more lever to pull. The blemish along Angelina’s neck had spiderweb lines at its edges, where soft, firm skin broke abruptly into pink, delicate scar tissue. There was a story here of how this scar came to be—something personal and private, something that made Angelina curl away when Madeleine asked about it. Made her fight. Madeleine pressed her lips, feeling out it's rough edges with her lips before she pressed her tongue to it. Kissed once (smack), twice (splick), drawing her tongue over the stretch of smooth skin as her fingers sunk deep into wet and warm and her thumb flicked, and Madeleine, quietly, groaned.

[Monsy]

Her own voice became a metronome for how she felt. Breathe in, she’d go flat. Then moan, arc, push out the hips and raise them just a tad. Roll it back. The squelching made her tongue feel hot, so her mouth was left slightly ajar. Her pink panties became the knot for her shaking legs. The smell of her own wet was numbing. Then the pain. Its smell and feeling like she can hear her nerves jab and scream.

She followed suit. “k-KAHAGHHhhHH--uh..huh..pg--” And she mewled after another set of tears fell. Her lips had become a frown, and she had red across her cheeks, but also increasingly around her eyes. And also her lynched stomach, which was squeezed to half-size, yet she still breathed with it. Short and throbbing breaths as her delayed orgasm had her trying to move hips onto the digits, faster and faster, but always limited by the body scissor and her own strength. And her arms were no good either, folded in, tucked like her slightly-parted legs, pinched by her breasts with tight white-knuckle fists that cradled herself.

The nip brought her shoulders up, and she shrunk, ending up scratching the canvas mat with her horns as she whispered in a whiny tone, “p-please-please-please… please make me cum…” And inhaled, long, slow and struggling from her gut. On the count of three…

One. Angelina continued to babble, neck exposed. “please-please…”
Two. Her hips looked like they were making small bounces with each dip. The camera got the golden view between her legs, with the arousal having its own glisten around the folds, inner thighs and buttocks. The arch in her back became permanent. The begging gets louder when Madeleine touches on her neck. “please!.. please!”

It’s a particular type of feeling…
Attention on her neck was kept minimal for it.
A sudden tightening around her throat and particular savoury hurt that makes her head squeeze. She feels drunk. Her lower half moves to rhythms but she couldn’t feel anything but the pain-fluttering cocktail. Pictures in her head. Ones that make an arm go around Madeleine’s neck as she drools and rolls her head back. The other arm wraps around too. It tightens, more and more until…

Three. She shuddered, and there’s one more gasp. Subtle at first, then she dipped into full-body spasms and involuntary convulsions. Toes curled, her fingers clawed, face buried down into Madeleine’s collar as she sobbed, then screamed. Loud, but short. Three times, with a small delay. Each one saw her squirt onto Madeleine’s hand and onto the mat, with a fever-feeling in her head that saw her nearly lose consciousness. She continued to gush, legs wide open that saw her panties snap. And after the point of struggling had passed, she was left moaning continuously and softly with her aching voice, unable to think, but feel, react, hold and quiver.

[Malkavia]

One, two, three—Madeleine delivered the count, and Angelina responded as on tempo, un, deux, trois, squeeze and moan and squirt. Madeleine slid her hand to the back of Angelina’s head and cradled her, hugging her tight just over ber breast as she convulsed.

“Ssssh.” Angelina was shivering in a way that made Madeleine think of punishment, as if Angelina been spanked and now was sobbing, contrite in forgiving aftercare. “Poor thing.”

Ding.

The first fall of the match became official, and the crowd’s rumble reached a peak. The sound of the crowd applauding was layered with many sounds—hands clapping, feet stomping, whistles, and catcalls. The sound whirled loud around Madeleine’s ears, yet like with many Japanese audiences, there was a coordination to the stands, almost choreography. Their hands and feet followed a rhythm that had built with Angelina’s convulsions, then climaxed with her, the percussion to the orchestra on show. Madeleine shifted her posture, arching back her shoulders slightly to sit all the taller with Angelina between her legs.

Gently, Madeleine pulled Angelina’s face away from her shoulder. At the same time, she slipped her hand from inside the girl and lifted it, dripping, to her cheek. Her fingers pressed just under her ear, and the Countess’s thumb slid, slick, along cheekbone as Madeleine held her face in two hands and drew her up for three kisses on the forehead. “My. Precious. Kitty.”

They sat in a mess of Angelina’s outfit. Torn panties and dismantled urban punk scattered to pieces around them (except for the shorts at her ankles) framed their two bodies. There was only one more piece to take, and as Madeleine’s hands settled on her stolen tiara, her smile curled with the barest trace of something sharp and smoldering.

[Monsy]

The bell rang on her, but she still couldn’t think through the tar. One point down and it still felt fuckin’ awful. At least being in Madeleine’s hold, with her face in the collar for a while longer did something to recoup. Ease. Steady the shakes.

Most of all. Stop fuckin’ crying.
“H-Hahh…” It’s a damn good delicious burn--feeling the wet between her legs, then on her face. And being held, expecting a punch, a headbutt, a bite or some sort of slander. Her eyelids had wrinkled tight and her shoulders lifted high as they would. Her forearms came together, with her wrists together and hands right by her unguarded chin. All this shrinking just to be kissed like a piece of gold. Absurd. It simply had to be a ruse for Madeleine to reach up high, for the real gold. Both hands went over her face, where the fingers laid over Madeleine’s hand like you would hang a piece of clothing. Its weight was the thing holding it there. Then she wiggled off her shorts, now undeniably naked from the waist down. She used that to turn on her hip, scoot, and face Madeleine with her legs going around Madeleine’s hips. “Let me keep it.”

She suggested in a smooth voice absent of attitude, kind of breathy and higher-pitched like a beg. She opened up her elbows to show her face again. Tear-stricken, with a shine around her forehead and cheeks. Puffy. Wet pink lips, and gentle purple eyes, a lowered chin and shrunken posture that had her looking up to Madeleine. This match was hers now, whereas Angelina just wanted to lean in and nuzzle her cheek against Madeleine’s face, then press her body into, touch heart rates, lend her lighter weight and whisper, “I want to wear it. Can I?” As if lowering her demands might get somewhere.

But maybe plotting a treasure map would, starting right by Madeleine's ear. Mwah. Mwah. Following around the cheekbone, down by the nose, and right over the swollen lip she bit before. She kissed it gently, flicked her tongue, suckled, then pulled back an inch, waiting and smiling.

[Malkavia]

Angelina’s ankles, then knees slid around Madeleine’s waist. Although Angelina was well shaven, the pinpricks of hair on her calves still tickled. Then her thighs slid into place and curled, girlishly, around Madeleine’s hips, and Madeleine became aware of her tongue in her mouth.

Keep it? Oh. Oh sweet. Madeleine cocked her head to one side and shook it. She smirked, ear to ear, and laughed, but. No no no. No matter how cutely her kitty curled up, no matter what kind of ache Madeleine felt watching her wriggle and disrobe of her last tatters, no matter what kind of spark the touch of Angelina’s hands sent through Madeleine’s. No. That, my dear, is mine.

And yet she hesitated. Earlier, she had backhanded Angelina across the face hard enough to sting. And here was her face, still raw. Chafed. Would it disappoint her kitten to take away her toy?

“Can I?” Madeleine felt the whisper in her ear as much as she heard it, and the effect was like a gentle stroke between Madeleine’s legs. Hairs all along her body bristled, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping. Pink and slick and tight curled so sweetly up her navel that it made her clench her grip on Angelina. Please?

“...I’ll cut you a deal—nnng…” The lip hurt when Angelina took it into her mouth. Madeleine had forgotten how fat it had become, how much of a blemish her rival had put on her face. Madeleine’s body tightened like a stretched rubber band as the bite wound became a red hot pressure point, throbbing as Angelina pressed their faced together, so soft and gentle, practically caring for her, nursing the hurt, and it hurt and hurt and hurt but please don't stop. But she did—she kissed her and pulled away, waited and watched, with an expression posing a question that made Madeleine’s heart hammr. Did I do good?

Madeleine kissed her back.

[Monsy]

There’s something about being the naked one while they seemed almost fully clothed. Not a dent in that armour, except for the helm she took. It made her eyes feel sunk to behold— that they were something bigger. Badder. Better. Something like that. She couldn’t thumb the particular note. It had her feeling heavy, and another pull to lay down, crash and let herself watch the monolith stare down, and approve her feat with that gentle look, silently congratulating the failed effort. They seemed like that kind of mountain.

But it’s always this part of the theft. The aftermath, and when the owner comes to reclaim that she holds it tighter. Her fingers slowly threaded between the gaps over the tiara, to negotiate and plead further without any extra breath. She connives the bargain by marking territory, then coddling up to that lip. It’s the best way she could ever say sorry.

And when Madeleine accepted it, and they locked brims again, Angelina moaned gently, savouring one last dose of lemon before she drew her head back, then snapped her forehead into their face. One hand reacted and gripped a fistful of Madeleine’s bangs before rebounds too far. Her eyes, once big, now dulled as her expression flat, doing this all in a single breath. The opposite fist now pulled back, and without a growl, stabbed her knuckles right into Madeleine’s windpipe, then let go.