Angelina Tarrant vs Satsuki Hayano - Hentai Submission Match

[winner3]

Hentai Submission Match: Victory to be awarded by way of submission via climax/hentai hold, knockout, count-out, or disqualification.

[Malkavia]

From the field-level seats to the upper deck, the Tokyo LAW stadium was packed with viewers, and Takeshi “iron-face” Nakamura was there in the white-and-black stripes to ensure they got exactly what they paid for: a fair fuck. And he knew games were afoot the moment the audience started to point, to laugh, to stare at something just north of the ring. That something, it turned out, was a bright pink lollipop attached to a roll of pink yarn leading under the ring. A frown wrinkled Nakamura’s face, already creased with middle age at 32. Respect for referees at LAW was at low-ebb—and why should anyone be surprised, with the attitude admin took? Given that attitude, the script from here seemed obvious: hapless referee, confused, investigates the strange lollipop, following the trail to the inevitable trap.

Not on his watch.

Nakamura charged the ring, passed the apron, and identified his target. She squeaked, and slid backpedaling away but—too late. Then he tackled the woman to the hard concrete ground, slid behind her, and locked in a rear naked choke. He ascertained from her size that he had a third party to the match in his arms. Good, he could sink in this choke and let medics handle the body.

Then the third party pressed a cloth into his face, and his mistake was the brief, involuntary gasp of surprise. That inhalation soaked the soft tissue in his nose, burning, while the vapors filled his lungs, and instantly—the world went dizzy. His grip weakened, and when he tried to back away, she rolled him and landed on top, and the last thing he felt before going under was the force of her knee between his legs.

—

When Shimmerlace crawled out from under the ring, she was, as the elder generation might put it, worse for wear. Her throat still ached from where Big Bad and Smelly had manhandled her neck, and the referee shirt — which draped over her like a loaner from a tall boyfriend — had several major tears. Coughing, she picked up the lollipop, unwrapped it, and stood uneasily to her feet. She stared at the audience. They stared back. She popped the lollipop in her mouth and yanked the yarn off its stem.

"So, eh...You cunts out there are here to see some girls get fucked, yeah?" The microphone attached to the referee's uniform projected her voice through the speakers. There was a murmur of agreement from the overwhelming mass of uncounted people.

Shimmerlace clicked her tongue. "Nnnno. No no no. Shit heads. That's not the noise this merits." The disgust on Shimmer's face as she shook her head ran deep. The sheer privilege given these people about to witness this match, and they dared be a quiet crowd. "You. Are on the precipice. Of a fuckin' event." She hopped to the ringside and began to stalk the side of the ring. "A cataclysm, you hear me? You are about to witness titans of the pipsqueak division teased, and tickled, and spat on, and reamed until they're quivering piles of bare skin in a wet heap of their humiliation. Greatness brought to mewls and a final bell-ringing cry for mercy!"

Now the numbskulls were waking up. Shimmerlace could feel their energy, hear them leaning in. She grinned and leaned against the ropes as she let the moment hang. Whatever else happened, this had been worth it.

After a beat, bouncing slightly on and off the ropes, she continued. "I wonder what Angelina will sound like? You know, Scarlet Terror, Bane of Kazikura, she of the terrible black horns what strikes fear into the heart of many and all. What's her, like...cum-noise? How's she whine when you slide your strap up the wrong hole, and she discovers, terrible and too late, that she likes it? Me personally I imagine it's kinda..." She moaned into the microphone, striking as she did a pose with her back bent over the rope and one leg crooked out. "sssssSatsukiiiiiimmmm~. Mmm."

She opened her eyes. Glanced at the crowd. Flashed another grin.

"If you want to find out, why don't ya make your wishes known as we welcome her to the ring. At one hundred and eight pounds and not quite tall enough to ride the Scrambler, from God only knows where but the accent tells us it definitely ain't Brooklyn, please give a We Are LAW welcome to...Aaaaangelina...TARRANT!"

[Monsy]

Shimma may have five inches on ya, but she’s the little shit here. There’s that nose pinch in the back. Sitting in that chair, waiting, board underneath her feet with a slushie in hand. She can hear the crowd buzz and the announcer’s fairy voice carry. Her smile pulls flat. She sighs, “Oh boy.”

Next thing she knew it was time to roll. As much as she wanted to no show JUST to fuck with them a bit -- tonight had a pot of lucky charms. A round two with gambla’ gal herself. Now, in an official LAW ring. The number of viral vids are about to blow the FUCK up, and in the best kind of squeal-y way. So she got up, popped her board’s tail so the nose went into her hand. Her song dropped with its use of pedals, drum cymbal and that lovely bass when the main course goes quiet. Smoke machines fire off to lay a blanket across the stage, and curls, lifts and evaporates around the black titantron carrying the horned skull banner.

Song

She emerged on her board, cruising across the stage until pulling a powerslide stop at the ramp’s lip. There she was. Dolled up in a dark crop jacket with golden buttons, stripes and little fixtures. The band around her neck was a tribal striped smoke. Hair was in three portions, two went over the ears and the third was a long ponytail spanning to her hip. She had arm sleeves on underneath, with a golden fixture on her middle finger. Red nails. White bandeau top. Dark short with easy buttons, stay-ups just a little bit down and her leather boots.

Pirate

The crowd drummed up a helluva noise. A majority of that is loathing. But there’s always those couple of pirates in the front row, who had their signs over the barricade and looked on, casting their middle fingers at her with their black shirts and headband horns. A niche trend that started almost exactly a year ago, except today there were no gibbets for them to tip. And so, she closed her eyes, shrugged openly, kick-turned her board and raced down the ramp. The smoke tailed her board just a touch into a rolling wind. Faster, and faster -- the rumble of wheels over metal became a growl until she reached ringside, jumped and rolled underneath the bottom rope with pristine timing, using the speed to catch a hand underneath, nudge and get her feet underneath. And there she was.

She had a glance at Shim, chin dipped like she was judging the absolute fuck out of her right now. Then she scaled the corner, one foot on the middle, another on top, and crossed her arms to finish the Skull and Crossed Birds pose in the midst of camera flashing.

One-Two-Three, and a spring. Right into a back-flip and one-eighty twist that saw her land comfortably as always, hands in short pockets. Her head shook, and now she walked straight up to Shimmer, looked up and raised a brow. “Asssssss. Hole. Ya really gotta bury me like that? Man.” Angelina went to flick their forehead. “Hella asshole.” But she broke a smile, cackled, then raised a finger to cue Shimmer on something. Angelina leaned towards the microphone on Shimmer’s referee shirt. “And for all ya baby-dick and tiny-tit dorksticks out there -- Just know that if I still have the I.Q left to cum AND moan their name, I’m pipin’ that shit in.”

And she walked away to take her corner, strutting. Shimmerlace Snuggleblossom the official. How they all grow up... And at the same time... Don't.

[Malkavia]

Burial says our Scarlet Terror — fuck, wouldn't that be the day. Imagining Angelina's cum noises was as fun as the performance, and she had put every ounce of her imitative gifts into painting Miss Tarrant here as a mewling submissive. Her chin had trembled, her back had shivered. The moan had used every ounce of wet, pathetic need she could dredge up. And she had come with every advantage. Nine tenths of the stadium was cranked to maximum in their thirst to see this woman demeaned.

And yet — when she came rolling down the ramp, middle fingers blazing, and the crowd thundered and hissed and booed, had any of it put the slighted scratch in her mighty pirate's hull? Fuck no. The Flying Dutchman soars highest on such stormy gales. Skater wheels ground and swayed on concrete while she rode on the head-pounding growl of her theme. Even Shimmer couldn't help but quietly suck in her breath and lean back and grin at the punk energy heralding her tormentor in chief.

Shimmerlace raised her eyebrows when Angelina stepped up to flick her forehead and spit her disrespect to the seats. Their eyes met and held a look, violet on pink, and Shimmerlace crooked her head back before glancing out to the seats. It was the finest gold she'd get paid all night. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I'm sure you'd know all about pipin' it in Angie. But these cunts've paid a mite better than your satin-sheets clients, so let's keep it real, hm? Ssssspeaking of—!"

She slid back to the center of things, eyes gleaming. God, but referee was an underrated job. Every shithead out there pivoted back to look at her, with all the potential that entailed. The Feychild walked and pointed a finger out at them all, arm straight as she began to shout. "DO YOU...KNOW...HER NAME?" She paused for effect. Slid her eyes left, then right. "No, seriously. How many of you dumb shits know the match you're watching? Come on, show of hands. Pfffff..." Her hand went to her nosebridge. She heaved a sigh rich in disappointment, channeling one of the many gifts of her training. "...It's on the fuckin card, dumbfucks..."

"Aight." Her hand went up. "Some hints for the illiterate among us. The prodigious talent gracing us with her presence is a veritable maestro of the ropes, whose airborne skills are matched only by her savant-like command of the slippery-quick duck and jab and slide. Hard to predict and harder to counter, the Daaaaaikooooookunyo is a whirling devil of technique in human form, who'd wager her firstborn's soul just...To win your virginity. Or would, anyway, if you were worth more than her spit." Big breath and another grin as she turned on her heel. Even by Shimmer's standards, all this shouting was making her a touch breathless. But it'd be over soon, and then she'd have the best seat in the house for watching Angelina grapple with a God damned legend. "Let's hear it cunts! At five foot four and one hundred and twenty pounds — is it a ninja? A monkey? Kazikura's latest and greatest comeback? It's all that and more, folks, it's SATSUKI...HAYYYYYYANOOOOOO!"

[FreestylePoet]

Taking another girl's virginity. That was a new one. Maybe a new thrill to taste tonight, if Angelina still had any of hers left to take. If that was the case, Satsuki would have to thank that big whirl of pink for putting her onto it.

Speaking of which...

Satsuki Hayano's entrance theme built and built, following the bobs and weaves of that flittering referee. That dervish whirled on a dime. Pieces fell into place one by one, all in the span of a final stretch. "Five... four... three..." over a tinny headset mic in the background, then a nod from the PA backstage Snare bumping its tempo the whole time -- faster and faster and faster until the climax before the climax, and-!

Satsuki Hayano, Daikokunyo

She stepped through the mist, and cheers instantly rained down on her. Never quite the same sections that pop for Angie, but new ones all her own. By now, her notoriety must have spread. Augustina, Kazikura. The idol, the psycho. That whole run through Apex. Things always went like this: Bag enough names, and you become one. Satsuki hummed. Reputation might've earned a sweatdrop in the locker room, or in the back office of a gambling den, but what was it worth from this bunch of rabid fans?

A weapon, maybe. Given the match type, that is. A dagger hanging above the both of them, swinging from one to the other like the Sword of Damocles on a pendulum. Improvisational, worth only as much as the creativity of the woman wielding it. Not like either of them wanted for that, though. Not by a long shot, not after last time.

Sweet dreams of that evening went on playback until Satsuki slung between the ropes. She stepped to he center. Angelina Tarrant. Far more familiar to her than most of her foes to date. Satsuki cocked a hip. "It's been a while, Akuma-chan. I haven't seen you at the club lately. Not for a drink, not for anything." She took a deep inhale, then shook her head. "It's a damn shame. I thought we had so much fun last time."

"But... guess that's why we're here now, isn't it?" She flashed a grin, heart already beating at the thought of upping the ante even more with this thrill of a demon. "You wore a slip with some horns, and I wore goddamn toilet paper -- and they still wanted to see us in less. Not that I mind." Eyes to a flicker. Impolite as always. "Wonder what those half-drunk trust fund babies think of us now. They hit on you all night 'til our little number, and I'm the one who gets in your pants." She stuck her tongue out.

"By the way, I meant to ask." She tossed a thumb behind herself. "You know the pixie?"

[Monsy]

Angelina seated the top turnbuckle pad, slouched over, elbows across spread thighs and the boot soles sunk on middle ropes. She had particular eyes on Shimmer through this next goddamn bit. A little itch inside could smell something funny was coming. Proverbial gloaming soap, some spice in the eyes, or in this case, ears. The air hissed from tongue and teeth, listening, and by fuck, getting her own nape hairs to stand. Internally, she had some choice words in her head, mostly with the words fuck, shit and you little something. Angelina looked between her legs, straight down, fiddled with her hands then looked back to witness our emerging Satsuki Hayano.

Build the person inside your head. Now just… Pinch the back of your hand. Yep. Like that. Then, twist for all its give. “Ow.” She peeped dryly, and concluded: this was really happening, huh. Chills. Absolute chills, with a splash of childish glee that she found difficult keeping narrow. The vibes of round two were hella’ uncertain, in the most tummy-warming way. There wasn’t any scaffolding to climb to play back a classic. Ropes were horizontal instead of vertical, and there was a severe lack of hand pumps for draft beers. The crowds were the same, just behind a fence.

Stand up, hop, put feet together and land sound. Perfect. Now just walk to the middle. Angelina’s head tilted off to one side. The crowd stirred into an excited ambience. They brimmed with degenerate wants and action needs. Angelina pocketed her hands into the coat. She listened and acknowledged through small gestures. A brow pop at the mention of clothes and nudity, a slow brief glance to the crowd, then a nose huff laugh at the end.

Two beats later, Angelina turned head the other way towards Shimmer. “I do, yeah. She’s a little crazy, though. Like you.” Her footing turned to point at Shimmer, adding a small lazy wave. “Speakin’ of numbas, I somehow missed gettin’ yours. Twas’ a shame after all that. I thought we had somethin’ sparkly, or did I not fall hard enough?” Her back flexed until it popped, and she squeezed an eye, then sighed. “Yeah. That hella hurt. So, what say ya make it up to me? Just once and I’ll owe ya.” Angelina pulled a couple black zip ties from her coat pocket, and held them behind her back. She nudged Satsuki with her eyes, then darted them over to Shimmer, to which she smiled with feigned but well-acted glee, and beckoned.

“Hey, Shimma! C’mere for a sec? Please and thank cha, with popsies on top.”

[Malkavia]

So—that just about wrapped up her work for the time being, and the Feychild slid into the shade as the titans squared up. Shimmerlace could feel the momentum of the place telescoping down, intensifying like concentrated moonlight on mat beneath her feet. Magic was afoot, stirring the heart. Gor, but what she wouldn't give to be one of the two participating.

Still, right here, right in the boiling intensity of this storm's core, was a Hell of a place to stand. And she'd even get the honor of officiating the end. Shimmerlace smirked, as Satsuki finished her entrance. Come to think of it, the Seelie Comet could put a thumb on the scale, now couldn't she? But which way though. She bit her tongue, head cocked as she imagined the scenarios. Her Mewling Grace the Pirate Queen over there would be sure to pop something critical if Shimmer swung it Satsuki's way for half a second, and wouldn't that be a sight worth grinning over?

Please and thank cha, with popsies on top.

Fuck.

Shimmer's eyes slid round to the Captain, grin turning steely. Her hands clasped behind her back as she cocked her head and considered the request. There were, of course, all manner of reasons her grace might require Shimmer's esteemed presence. So here's your signal on how we're gonna pull the rug out from under Bubblegum Highroller over here might even have been plausible, if Angelina had been the type to call in help where treasure was to be had. Which she weren't. But even if she was—with popsies on top?

So what though? You didn't say no to a direct order from the Captain. Not while you had sense in your head. So, she sidled down the ring and came to face the contestants, glancing first left. Satsuki. Then right. Our Captain. Shimmerlace regarded them coolly with a smile.

"Aye, at your service. And. What is it your esteemed and highly qualified representative of LAW's officiating body might do for ya, miss Tarrant? I trust you're not throwing the towel already? Would be a terrible shame to deny those present an opportuity to appreciate the musicality of your sexual squeals."

[Monsy]

How does one deal with problems…
One could say she had a universal method for most. Especially if they’re physical, corporeal, not a rabbit or wearing any body armour. Of course, there was always a wee chat. Stern words, a subtle command and meaning. Sugar it in smiles and viola -- they smile back. Her second arm joined behind her back, and grabbed the wrist holding zip ties. That wrist wagged, on the tip of index and thumb, held on by its ridges. Angelina slid one leg up, tapped the ground with her toes, then drew figure eights.

Shimmer’s nag about sexual squeals robbed her mask here. Her eyelids drooped a third, flat, and her mouth pulled into a line that formed the smallest of dimples in those clear cheeks that blushed pink.

Something that said… Are ya serious right now?
While her head voice muttered: No-no. There will be no squealin, or moanin’... Or squealin.

Instead what came out was a long sigh, looking up, then uttering in a flat voice, “Your shoe's untied.”

Her leg swung, toes tipped and pointed, with the boot sole’s edge now bum-rushing to our Seelie referee's crotch. As she deserved.

[Malkavia]

She had it coming—and knew it. Grin though she might, her hands had squeezed a tight knot behind her back, white where thumb pressed into the knuckle. Her heart spun, then throbbed, and then it hit.

Test your strength, kids, at the carnival High Striker game! Cunt was the pedal, and her face was the bell. Ding! "Eck!...nnng..." Breath whistled out her nose. Her belly seized, and her nose lifted as a surge of prickly red blush swept from neck to forehead. Her lips parted in a squiggle while a moan slipped from her chest.

She crumpled at the captain's feet. Fuckin' weak-ass knees. How many times had they just folded because some cunt tweaked the wrong part of her body? Pain came late as always with these low blows, a low burn between her legs that would rise into her tummy and burn brighter and brighter while a sweet sexual something uncurled its claws between her legs. Her back trembled like a cat's as the sensations worked through her.

She could feel the Captain looking down at her. Kinda cold, actually—flat. That was the bit that made the knives in Shimmerlace's gut twist, what really made her bleed. She responded as was her wont. She laughed, a wheezy kind of choked giggle, but a laugh all the same.

"Dumbshit thing to say...I-I don't...got ties on my boots Ange..." Her eyes rolled up to meet Angelina's. Her trembly little gasps were wet through the teeth in her grin. "They're buckle-ups 'n velcro....Nnng. Guess those erotic squeals to come really got your mind outta the game here, ey cunt?"

[Monsy]

Eat shit Snugglebutts! Was the motto of the day. Girl had all the tools to pick your brain without knowing what's inside, and HONESTLY, that was beggin’ for a kick. Seeing them crumble like cards was delicious too, and it almost sparked a smile for the pirate who leaned over, feeling tall for a change, and got very near and dear to our comet friend. Ugh, watching them spasm and grip themselves could get a moan in of itself.

Exactly what she needed to loosen up, release tension and facial heat.

Then Shimma spits on it like magic words. A please and thank you to make her choke, sweaty on the forehead and feel an itch to lift her knees directly into their chin. She relented on that last part. Instead, she reached to latch her hand against the side of Shimmer’s jaw, palm to chin, then squeezed where she felt the molars. “My sexual squeals must be supah funny. I bet. You’re so right!” The nails pressed in, and a second hand applied to her hair.

“But I know, for a fact. I can make yours loudah.” Now, eye-to-eye between pink and cat hues, Angelina blew in their face, calmly, but with an uneasy upper lip, then smiled. “So! Squeals or your wrists in zip-ties. What shall it be, comet buddy?”