Safiyah Neferet vs. Aspasia El-Shenawy - Dance of the Serpents

[BlackAkuma]

The match had started on a friendly note, as Asp’s bouts often did. While she was a wrestler, she tried her best to avoid the sort of aggressiveness that usually came with this sport, and - with the exception of Naga - she had been successful in that endeavor thus far. For someone who’d been doing this for a good while, she had little in the way of rivals and many friends, a track record she was happy with.

She had thought much the same of Safiyah at the start, but as the woman made her way into the ring, she sensed a shift in that notion. There was something about how her foe moved, that look in her mismatched eyes, that spoke of a fire burning underneath. Was it the taunt? She had thrown it out in good spirts, feeling it wasn’t any stinging than the barbs Safiyah had thrown her way before, but it was hard to be sure. Some people took their own medicine better than others.

There was some malice in the woman’s voice when spoke this time, and Asp didn’t miss that her reply was made in English, no longer giving her the courtesy of conversing in their native tongue. She was tempted to ask if Safiyah had been offended and even apologize if it was necessary, but she wasn’t given the chance before the two of them met up again.

Or so she thought. It seemed as if Safiyah was willing to engage, until the woman ducked down and forward, her body moving into a familiar position. The way her leg was curling, her body’s position - Asp recognized it straightway as a move she used, the Scorpion Kick, and that recognition might have been the only thing that allowed her arms to rise in time to block it.

Smacked against her forearms and made her wince, but that was a small price to pay over having it hit her face. As Safiyah brought her leg back, Asp reached and seized her head, pulling it tight under shoulder with a facelock. With her secure, she stood on one leg and brought her other foot up to smack Safiyah in the face, before releasing her and shoving her away.

[Lightman]

The match had begun as a playful exchange, a clash of skill and grace wrapped in mutual respect. Safiyah had entered the ring, seeing in Asp a kindred spirit—a fellow dancer, a fellow warrior who understood the artistry of movement. But now, that perception was shifting.

The moment she stepped back into the ring, she could feel something simmering beneath the surface. Asp’s laughter, light and teasing, still echoed in her ears, and though she told herself it was nothing, that it had not touched her pride, the fire in her chest told a different story.

Had the taunt struck deeper than she had thought? Perhaps. But it was not merely the words. It was the game being played between them, the dance of control. Safiyah had fallen—briefly, but undeniably—and that had altered the dynamic. Now, she had something to reclaim. Her reply came in English this time, a subtle but deliberate shift. No longer the intimacy of their native tongue, but a universal challenge spoken in a language understood by all. She did not let herself dwell on why she made that choice. What mattered now was movement, action, reasserting herself in the rhythm of the fight.

The Azure Cobra stepped in, feinting a grapple, but her true intention lay in the sudden twist of her hips, the sharp flick of her leg. A Scorpion Kick—ironically, one of Asp’s own tricks turned against her. The thought of seeing surprise flicker in those sharp eyes thrilled her, but it was fleeting. Asp reacted faster than expected, her arms rising in time to absorb the impact. The sound of colliding flesh cracked through the air, but the intended impact was lessened.

The momentary frustration barely had time to settle before Safiyah felt hands seizing her, pulling her in close. A sudden, controlled shift caught her before she could resist. The pressure of a tight facelock, the firm grip locking her in place—it was enough to make her muscles tense, instinct screaming at her to counter.

But the next strike came too fast. A foot shot up, striking her square in the face. Pain blossomed, sharp and immediate, as her head snapped back. Her vision blurred at the edges, a white-hot shock running through her skull as her body staggered, thrown off balance. The impact had not been enough to take her down completely, but it was enough to leave her dazed, a second of vulnerability carved into the unrelenting flow of battle.

The crowd’s reaction surged around them, but Safiyah barely heard it. At that moment, there was only the ringing in her ears, the dull throb where the kick had landed, and the realisation that for the first time in this match—she had been caught in the serpent’s coils.

[BlackAkuma]

To Safiyah’s credit, there was nothing wrong with her attempt, in and of itself. It was brilliantly executed, and Asp suspected it would have caught many wrestlers totally off guard, as they weren’t used to defending from such obscene angles. But their similar styles meant that there was little either of them could do to catch the other wholly off guard, which made this a thrilling exercise. It was the perfect chance to hone her abilities, see and improve her flaws.

She only hoped Safiyah saw it the same way.

An intriguing question, but one for another time. Now, she was focused on making the most of the situation she had created as she snagged Safiyah’s head and kept her in place with a simple hold. The move could’ve been easily countered, hence Asp’s haste in following it up - the foot slap would do little damage, but it accomplished what it needed, stunning Safiyah for a precious moment.

As Asp released the woman, she was gifted with the perfect opportunity: a staggering, delirious foe. That wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, but that was all the time she needed to capitalize. She rushed in with open arms, wrapped them around her foe’s chest, and went for…

…a kiss. Soft. Supple. Asp embraced her like a lover, holding her tight and letting their bodies mesh against each other. Her thigh slid forward to rub against the woman’s pussy, while her hands roamed around her back, one of them stroking her shoulders while the other took a tender handful of the woman’s magnificent ass. The crowd voiced their approval, hoots and hollers, as the skin sizzled and the breath mingled.

A hot moment. But only a moment. When it passed, Asp brought her arms to the small of Safiyah’s back, lifted her up, spun her about, and attempted to bring her crashing to the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex. Not her specialty, and it wouldn’t have all that much power even if she pulled it off, but damage wasn’t the point. No, the objective was to get on top.

[Lightman]

Safiyah was still reeling, the ringing in her ears dulling the sounds of the crowd as she struggled to centre herself. The kick had left her disoriented, the sharp sting lingering as a throbbing heat across her face. She had known this match would be a test, but this moment forced her to acknowledge how perfectly they mirrored each other—how one mistake, one miscalculation, could turn the tide. And Asp had done just that.

Through the haze of her stunned state, she barely registered the rush of movement before warmth enveloped her. Soft lips pressed against hers, tender and slow, an intimate contrast to the battle they waged. Her breath hitched, her body momentarily betraying her as she felt the smooth slide of Asp’s thigh pressing between her legs, the teasing brush of fingertips exploring the contours of her back. A calculated move, designed to pull her deeper into the moment—to break her focus, to keep her stunned in a way that no strike ever could.

The crowd roared in approval, a symphony of hoots and cheers, but Safiyah hardly heard them. All she could feel was the heat of Asp’s body, the subtle shift in the woman’s grip, the press of their bodies against one another. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the psychological game, the way Asp wielded intimacy as both a weapon and a shield. It was a seduction of the senses, a calculated lull before the storm.

And then the world spun.

Before she could fully process what was happening, Asp’s arms tightened around her waist, locking her in place as her feet left the mat. The sensation of weightlessness lasted only a heartbeat before the impact came, her back slamming against the canvas with a sharp, unforgiving force. The breath fled from her lungs in a gasp, pain blooming along her spine as she lay momentarily dazed, her limbs sprawled as her mind fought to catch up. It was disorienting, not just the landing, but the shift in control, the abrupt way in which the moment of shared intimacy had been transformed into raw dominance.

The suplex hadn’t been the most devastating move, but it didn’t need to be. Asp hadn’t executed it for sheer power—she had executed it for positioning, for control. Every inch of Safiyah’s body protested as she lay there, the dull ache spreading from her back, radiating outwards, leaving her momentarily vulnerable. Her mismatched eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls as the realisation dawned on her.

Asp caught her. For all her agility, for all her precision, she had played into the Water Serpent’s hands. The moment had been stolen from her, the shift in momentum undeniable. She could hear the buzz of the crowd now, their voices a chaotic blend of exhilaration and intrigue, but their reactions were secondary to the sharp pulse of frustration blooming in her chest.

Safiyah’s fingers curled against the canvas, her mind already scrambling for her next move. She couldn’t allow this moment to extend, couldn’t afford to stay stunned for too long. Every second she remained still was another second Asp could use to tighten her control. She had to recover, had to reset, had to reclaim her footing before Asp could fully capitalise on her advantage.

But right now, her body wasn’t cooperating. Her muscles ached, her breath was ragged, and the world still felt like it was tilting beneath her. She blinked hard, willing her senses to sharpen, to cut through the lingering haze. The battle was far from over, but at this moment, Safiyah was undeniably on the defensive.

[BlackAkuma]

Asp’s amorous assault wasn’t meant to deceive - at least, that was far from the only reason. The major purpose wasn’t even to play with her foe’s emotions, though that was an important role. With the onus on her to drive Safiyah to an orgasm, she needed to make sure that every move she made affected her foe in some sensual way, that it all played together for the overall goal. In this, Asp was uniquely suited for hentai matches in ways that many wrestlers were not, as she had spent no small amount of her life learning what it took to arouse people through song and dance. Seduction had been her weapon to wield long before she stepped into the ring.

But, more than anything, Asp wanted to feel Safiyah. To touch her. To taste her. It would be no understatement to say that she was the most beautiful woman she had shared a ring with, and she was up against staunch competition. Her eyes were achingly haunted, her physique was divine, and her skin called out to Asp, begging to be caressed - she could only deny it for so long.

She wanted to have her, and so she did. A little trickery, a little strength, and she had her rival down on the mats, helpless. For the time being, at least.

Asp laid atop her foe after the suplex, hands on her shoulders to and legs astride her waist to pin her down, though she doubted it was wholly necessary. The crash looked to have taken the wind out of her, and she wasn’t moving much. All the same, she knew how dangerous this woman was, that her fangs were still lethal. She would be careful, but not too careful.

As Safiyah lay there, Asp reached up to pin one of her wrists to the mat, while the ran along the contours of her body, sliding across her skin, until it chanced upon a wonderful breast that demanded its attention. Her teasing fingers pressed into it, gentle at first, then harder and harder still, gripping it deeply, wantonly possessively.

Asp slid up the woman’s body for better leverage, looming over her fallen foe, and her calf came down between her legs to rub against her mound, pushing her along with some light simulation. It would be nothing compared to what she had in mind for later, but a good place to start.

[”Just lie back, love. Let it happen.”] Her heated, whispered words barely came through the crowd’s cheers. [”Let me take you to heaven.”]

[Lightman]

Safiyah’s world had narrowed to sensation. Momentarily breathless, she felt the impact of the suplex pulse through her spine, radiating outward like ripples in water. The canvas beneath her was cool against her heated skin, a stark contrast to the woman pressing down on top of her, pinning her beneath the weight of a body that moved like poetry, that felt like seduction itself. The warmth of her body, the subtle shifts in pressure, the calculated way in which Asp moved—it was all designed with purpose, with mastery.

The bluenette had known from the start that Asp was dangerous. Though not in the way a striker was dangerous, nor the way a powerhouse could overwhelm an opponent with sheer force. The redhead was dangerous in a way far more insidious, far more intimate. She didn’t fight with brute strength or unrelenting aggression—she fought with temptation.

Asp understood how intimacy held power, how touch could serve as effectively as a strike, and how pleasure could function as both weapon and snare. In that aspect, Safiyah had not underestimated her. But she had not expected just how effortlessly Asp could blur the lines between combat and seduction.

The weight atop her was not oppressive, but it was unyielding. A deliberate pressure that pinned her down, that sent a simple message: she was in control. For now.

Asp’s grip was firm yet indulgent, one hand pressing down against her wrist, the other exploring, tracing her curves with unbearable, practised ease. Safiyah’s breath hitched as she felt it—those teasing fingers gliding over her ribs, past the taut plane of her stomach, lingering just long enough to make her skin tingle before finally settling over her breast.

The grip started light, almost playful. But it did not remain that way. Fingers pressed deeper, bolder, possessive. A deliberate squeeze. A kneading press. Safiyah’s mismatched eyes—glacial blue and burning gold—fluttered slightly, her body instinctively tensing, her muscles coiling beneath the touch. But Asp was not satisfied with mere touch alone. No, the woman above her was methodical, strategic in every caress, every motion, every press.

Asp slid up her body, settling her weight in a way that left no room for retreat. And then—Contact.

A smooth and deliberate calf slid between her legs, the pressure light at first but quickly growing more insistent and purposeful. The slow, teasing friction, its measured rhythm, was calculated not for satisfaction but to awaken, prepare, and push her down a path where resistance would grow harder and harder.

Safiyah clenched her jaw, nails curling against the canvas, willing her body to obey, to reject the sensations coursing through her veins. But the whisper in her ear—low, sultry, intimate—made that resolve waver. She needed a moment—just one—to gather herself, to reclaim her breath, to fight back. But Asp would not give her anything. And Safiyah—damn it all—could do nothing but endure.

The words, the breath against her skin, the heat between them—it was a perfect storm, a masterclass in control. Safiyah had faced many opponents before, but none had sought to conquer her in quite this way. And now, as she lay beneath Asp, her body still reeling from the suplex, her mind clouded by sensation, she knew she had to act soon.

Because the longer she waited, the more inevitable Asp’s victory would become.

[BlackAkuma]

Shortly after her first match in LAW, the fans formed an opinion of Asp, one she glimpsed on the rare occasions she was bored enough to go onto the internet. Many of them saw her as a ‘dominatrix’ type, and they had good reason to do so, as her match with Sophia had been a masterclass in manipulation. Though she had lost that bout, she had still managed to use her wiles to run afoul of a woman who, in a straightforward contest, would’ve utterly dominated her.

Asp wouldn’t dispel those notions, but she wouldn’t encourage them. She wouldn’t say that she enjoyed dominating her opponents more than being dominated by them. For her, it was merely a matter of giving them what they needed, satisfying them in a way that let her take the victory. Pleasure was simply a tool, and she could use it in so many ways.

Safiyah was a prime example. Here, Asp used their shared lust to get effect, as she explored the woman’s body and exposed her sensations, making her melt under her touch. She had admired the woman’s proud breasts since she laid eyes on them, and now that she was free to feel them unabated, she made full use of the opportunity.

Safiyah’s body responded in kind, moving to her every touch like a puppet with broken strings. The woman was at war with herself, trying so hard to endure as Asp forced pleasure into her body, waging what was destined to be a losing battle.

She was already so close to the edge, to being pushed off. Asp needed to give her a shove, and her calf wouldn’t be up for the task.

As much as she hated to leave that ripe breast alone, Safiyah had a better use for her free hand. She slid her calf away and ran her fingers down her opponent’s body until it was at her pussy, giving the woman only a few moments to recover before the stimulation began anew. Her fingers slipped under the garment and rooted around the wetness until they brushed off waiting folds, so hot and eager.

Her deft touch slipped in and began to work its magic, starting with a slow pace and picking up with every stroke, while her lips descended and neared Safiyah’s, closing her eyes as she prepared for the plunge. ”Forgive me, beautiful.” She licked her lips, so close that her tongue dabbed against Safiyah’s mouth. ”But this is my match to win.”

[Lightman]

Safiyah was losing herself.

She could feel it—the slow, insidious unravelling of her control, the way her body betrayed her with every brush of Asp’s fingers, every teasing graze of her lips. The bluenette’s body reacted, muscles tightening in response to every practised stroke, every deft flick that sent waves of heat curling in her core, setting fire to places that had no business burning in a wrestling match. She had fought so hard to resist, to deny the pleasure being forced upon her, but Asp was relentless. A masterful seductress, weaving her touch like a weapon, stripping away every layer of pride Safiyah had left.

Asp was good. Too good. And that was the problem.

The woman was not just a seductress—she was a master of sensation, of control, and she wielded pleasure with the precision of a sharpened blade. And now, Safiyah was dangling on the edge of that blade, the slow, teasing descent of Asp’s lips clarifying that she intended to push her off. The words came with a whisper, a brush of warmth against Safiyah’s parted lips, the teasing flick of a tongue that sent another unwanted shudder through her body.

Panic set in. It was sudden, visceral. She could feel how close she was, how easily Asp was guiding her toward the inevitable, how her own body had turned against her and started moving toward pleasure instead of away from it.

No.

No, no, no.

Safiyah refused.

She was not some plaything to be unravelled, not another victim of Asp’s dance of seduction. The thought of losing like this, of her proud body being taken in front of the roaring crowd, of being another conquest to another opponent’s collection—it sent a bolt of fury ripping through her veins, sharp enough to cut through the pleasure clouding her mind. Safiyah remembered why she was here in the first place. She’s here to win. Not to lose. Not again. And she would not lose like this.

Safiyah’s heterochromatic eyes snapped open, and in an instant, she moved. With a raw, defiant snarl, the bluenette threw her head forward, seeking to slam her skull into Asp’s face. A brutal, unrelenting headbutt, that would no doubt send shockwaves. Not just between the two bodies, but to the crowd as well. On top of that, the Azure Cobra bridged her hips with a sudden surge of power, using every ounce of strength in her core and legs to thrust Asp away, forcing her off her perch and sending her rolling across the canvas.

[BlackAkuma]

A part of Asp felt bad about this, even though she had committed no crime and done no wrong. A small part, but a part nonetheless.

It was the same pang she always felt whenever she won a match, even when she was just winning. Though she had come a long way physically and developed her wrestling skills, her competitor’s spirit was still in its infancy, far behind her peers. Something in her wanted others to win along with her, for them all to come ahead, especially when she was fighting with someone she was rather fond of. She saw so much of herself in Safiyah that it was impossible to not sympathize with her. The two of them could have been sisters in another lifetime.

She would make it up to the woman afterwards, in some way. She doubted a belly dancing lesson would mean much to her, she was already an excellent dancer, but she would think of some way to balance the scales.

As her fingers picked up the pace, Asp brought her lips to Safiyah’s and waited for nature to run its course…

Something happened.

An explosion, that was the only way Asp could define it. She was moving for a kiss, when there was this sudden explosion of light and pain on her face, as if she had headfirst into a brick wall. It knocked all sense out of her, and she was only barely able to register as her body was sent flopping away, coming down for a hard crash on her back.

That was where she stayed for the moment, too, staring up at the ceiling with widened eyes. She closed them after a moment and hissed, as the pain began to set in and claw at her brain, a throbbing agony that cut into her skull. A headbutt? Had Safiyah headbutted her? It seemed hard to believe, but the evidence screamed it.

[Lightman]

The crowd gasped at the sudden, violent reversal, the shift in control so stark it left them momentarily breathless. The impact was solid, visceral, and Safiyah felt the way Asp jerked in response, the way her grip loosened—just enough.

And that was all she needed.

Safiyah’s body still burned, tingling with the echoes of what had nearly been, what had almost overtaken her. She could still feel the ghost of Asp’s fingers against her, the way they had worked their way toward unravelling her resolve, teasing her to the brink. The thought made her breath hitch, her body thrumming with residual heat even as she forced herself to focus. She had been dangerously close to bursting, so close that the panic had clawed at her throat, demanding she fight back before it was too late.

The headbutt had been an act of desperation, of sheer survival, a brutal, inelegant counter to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that had threatened to consume her. The moment of impact had been raw, desperate, and instinctual. Safiyah barely registered the pain blooming in her own skull, the sharp sting radiating outward from the point of collision. It was secondary, an afterthought compared to the urgent relief that coursed through her veins. She had needed that—needed to break the cycle, to shatter the spell Asp had so masterfully woven around her.

Now, as she pushed herself upright, her forehead still throbbing from the impact, she watched Asp sprawled on the mat, the aftermath of their clash written all over her stunned expression.

For a tiny, fleeting moment, guilt flickered through Safiyah’s mind. A part of her recognised the sincerity in Asp’s approach, the strange, almost tender connection they had forged in the heat of battle. But she buried that part beneath the burning need to reclaim herself, to assert control before it was too late. She could not afford to hesitate. Not now.

Her body screamed for a moment’s reprieve, for a second to collect herself, but she ignored it. The haze of lust had not fully lifted, and the closer she had been to the edge, the more dangerous her position remained. If she allowed Asp even a sliver of an opening, she knew her opponent would waste no time in seizing it once more.

Safiyah rolled onto her hands and pressed against the canvas, pushing off with fluid grace into a handspring. Her body arched, her muscles coiling like a spring wound tight. There was no time to savour the moment, no time to steady herself completely—the window was small, and she needed to act.

With a sharp inhale, her lower body folded forward, snapping into motion with the speed and precision of a striking cobra. Her foot lashed out, the ball of it aimed for Asp’s head, seeking to repay the daze she had suffered with one of her own. She didn’t know if it would land—if Asp would recover in time if she would slip away at the last second—but Safiyah didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t. The battle had shifted, and now it was her turn to press forward.