Mirewyn Thornveil vs Flick Sterling – “Tangled in Bloom”

[DJPow]

Match Type: Hentai Submission
Victory Conditions: Win by making the opponent to give up while in a submission hold after forcing an orgasm

Mirewyn Thornveil stood alone near the edge of the curtain, eyes lowered as she breathed slow and steady. Her debut still lingered in her body. Not as embarrassment, but as a lesson written into muscle and memory. The way the crowd had watched her as she was forced to succumb. The way the ring had tested her in ways she hadn't anticipated. The way pain and pleasure had demanded honesty from her. It was a memory she welcomed, because it reminded her of a simple truth: As in life, nothing in the ring would ever be given freely.

Which was exactly why she was looking forward to tonight’s match.

A hentai submission bout carried heavy weight with it. It was about possession. About control taken layer by layer, forcing body, mind, and will to yield in unison. To Mirewyn, it had hardly anything to do with indulgence, and everything to do with principal. Pressure applied until one's body adapted by want… or by force. Either way, there was no denying nature's will. Her second match carried expectation now, both from the audience and from herself. A debut opponent across the ring meant unpredictability, yes, but it also meant fresh soil. A body not yet conditioned to her particular brand of pressure.

The curtain finally parted, and Mirewyn stepped onto the stage.

Entrance Theme: Blackbriar - Cicada

Mirewyn Thornveil

This time, she did not emerge quietly. The lighting caught the dark, organic lines of her gear and the pale certainty of her expression as she walked forward, stride unhurried but assured. She let the crowd see her fully now, lifting her gaze to meet theirs as she moved down the ramp. A few hands reached out. A few voices called her name. Mirewyn answered them with a faint, genuine smile, rolling her shoulders as she glanced across the sea of faces. She spread her arms slowly at her sides, raising them with deliberate grace, palms open, as if drawing energy up from the Earth beneath her feet.

After the spectacle, Mirewyn continued down the ramp and stepped onto the apron before slipping between the ropes. Inside the ring she moved much more methodically, pacing once in a slow circle as she took in the canvas, the ropes, and the eyes watching from all around her. She raised one arm in acknowledgment, letting the reaction wash over her without feeding on it.

She reached her corner and leaned back into it, resting her arms along the ropes, her body relaxed but ready. Her eyes turned toward the entrance ramp, focused and curious rather than hostile. "Step into my garden, my noble foe" Mirewyn's voice carried across the ring towards the opposing entrance. "Let's see how beautifully I can make you bend'"

[HotWheels]

Flick Sterling leaned into the illuminated makeup mirror, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips that was equal parts mischief and vindication. For years, she’d been trying to drag the stuffy world of professional wrestling into her gutter - trying to blur the lines between a fight and a session, between pain and something a bit more… complex. She’d pushed boundaries with her gear, her holds, the way she whispered to opponents while she bent their legs back Usually, promoters got squeamish. They wanted the violence, sure, but they didn't want the implication. But this? A hentai submission match on a public stage?

It felt like the world was finally catching up to her.

She adjusted the gold collar of her outfit, admiring the way the ensemble always came together but muttering to herself all the while.

"Fuggin' sexy tiiiimes," she muttered to her reflection, smoothing the asymmetrical hemline that fluttered around her hips like a cloud. "And look at you again, me. Absolute vision. Gotta look more expensive than this bird." She didn't even mean it as an insult, merely a matter of fact.

She vibrated her way to gorilla, the anticipation electric. She climbed the maintenance ladder to the lighting rig with the ease of a creature born for heights, waiting on the catwalk as the gentle, haunting piano notes of the remix of Lacrimosa. When the track distorted into its filthy grime beat, Flick dropped.

She spiraled down the rappel line, her ribbons whipping around her and leg poised for showmanship. She stuck the landing on the ramp with a heavy thud that dissolved instantly into a liquid roll. She pushed off the floor, spine bending backward into her signature chest-stand, feet dangling casually over her own head as she blew an upside-down kiss to the front row. "Evening, pets! Hope you're ready for a show!"

Skipping into the ring, she didn't climb the ropes like, well, a normal person. She started to dive through them before catching them with both hands and turning herself upside down so her feet aimed at the ceiling and her twintails draped down onto the apron. Yeah, she knew exactly how hot she looked. Fuck her breasts for falling in her face, though. She let the pose hold until the crowd had reached a fever pitch, then popped out of the pose like water.

Oh yeah, she was here already. Mirewyn. Business time. She turned to face her, and Flick’s eyebrows shot up in genuine appreciation. The woman was sleek, clad in dark gear with green vine motifs wrapping around her legs and torso. Reminded Flick of a poisonous flower - one Flick would happily risk touching. She let out a low whistle, strutting right up until she was invading Mirewyn’s personal space.

"Well hello there, darling," she purred, briefly sounding more refined and less... well, Flick... looking the woman up and down with zero shame. The spell broke as quickly as she had summoned it, though, the rawness breaking through her tone again. "Oooh, you're tasty. I mean, I'd have done the whole hentai submission bit even if you looked like a bag of smashed crabs 'cause I like a good time, but this? This is a treat."

She reached out, bold as brass, to lightly flick one of the green vine straps on Mirewyn's thigh.

"Crowd’s gonna lose their tiny minds."

Spoiler

[DJPow]

She tracked every motion of her opponent with a quiet, focused attention, head slightly tilted as the contortionist descended, rolled, folded, and unfolded herself for the crowd. Mirewyn displayed the same expression as when she observed her venus flytraps back home, the kind that came from studying something beautiful that might also be dangerous. Flick’s body flowed like water poured into any and every shape imaginable, elastic and irreverent, a performance that dared the ring to keep up.

When Flick finally turned toward her, Mirewyn straightened from the turnbuckles and stepped forward, meeting her halfway. The whistle earned a slow blink. The commentary earned a faint smile. When Flick flicked the vine strap at her thigh, Mirewyn glanced down at the point of contact, then back up again, eyes steady and unflinching. She lifted her own fingers and gently caught Flick’s wrist, holding it there between them. Her voice was calm, almost conversational.

“Touch all you like,” Mirewyn said softly. “But beware, some plants react rather violently when overly... stimulated" Her lips curved into something faintly amused as she shifted a half step closer, refusing to yield an inch. She released the wrist, letting her fingers instead brush lightly along the side of Flick’s cheek, slow as if a testing caress rather than a claim.

“You’re flexible,” she continued, her gaze drifting over Flick’s posture, the coiled readiness in her frame. “People like you often believe that means you don’t break.” There was no malice in her tone. No cruelty. Just genuine curiosity heightened by anticipation of what her opponent's magnificent body might offer.

“I find myself very eager to test that assumption.”

Mirewyn stepped back then, granting Flick her space again. She turned her shoulders toward the center of the ring, rolling her neck once as she settled, hands loose at her sides. Her eyes never left her opponent, her body patiently awaiting the sound of the opening bell.

“Don’t worry about the crowd,” she added quietly. “If anyone’s going to lose themselves tonight… it's bound to be you.”

DING DING DING!

[HotWheels]

Flick didn't flinch when the fingers closed around her wrist. If anything, her pulse jumped, a little spike of dopamine hitting her system at the restriction. She stared down at the point of contact, then back up at the poisonous flower holding her, a wicked, delighted grin splitting her face. "Oooh, kinky," she breathed, making no effort to pull away. She stepped into the grip rather than away from it, sliding into the space Mirewyn occupied until the air between them grew hot and thin. She leaned in, her face inches from the other woman's, her blue eyes dancing with hungry amusement.

"Mmmm, that a threat or a promise?" Flick whispered, the words brushing against Mirewyn's lips. "Cause you're gonna find I'm hard to scare off, love."

When Mirewyn released her wrist to brush her cheek, Flick practically melted, leaning into the touch with a low, appreciative hum, like a cat getting scritches behind the ear. In fact, her eyelids fluttered shut for a fraction of a second - probably not the smartest thing to do in a wrestling ring with an opponent who wanted to fuck and submit her, but screw it, she had to live a little with all these attractive people around. She could absolutely get used to this kind of pre-match service.

Taking the opportunity, Flick let her own hand drift, trailing from the air down toward Mirewyn's leg. She bypassed the fabric of the gear, her fingers ghosting past the green vine again to find the bare skin there, tracing the line of muscle with a feather-light touch.

"Like I saaaid, threat or promise..." she murmured again, opening her eyes to lock gazes one last time. "Guess I'm gonna find out."

The bell rang. The sharp ding helped the intimacy wane, as did Mirewyn's movement out of her sphere. Flick took a deep, centering breath, inhaling the cool, recycled air of the arena and letting the heat in her belly harden into focus. The languid cat waned; the predator remained.

She moved. Flick exploded from her standstill, launching a hyper-athletic offensive designed to overwhelm. She snapped a low kick at Mirewyn's lead calf, barely retracted it before spinning into a sharp side-kick to the ribs, and flowed immediately into a high, hooking heel kick aimed at the temple. The strikes came from three different angles in the span of a heartbeat, a blur of white, blue, and gold intended to force the flower onto her back foot and off-balance.

[DJPow]

The bell cut through the charged air, sharp and final, and whatever languid intimacy had hovered between them evaporated in an instant.

Mirewyn felt it before she fully saw it, the first kick cracked into her lead calf with a sharp, brutal snap. Pain flared hot and immediate, jolting her weight sideways as her leg buckled for a split second. A sharp hiss escaped her before she could stop it, teeth clenched as she forced herself to adjust. The second strike came fast, driving into her ribs. Mirewyn turned into it on instinct, catching part of the blow on her forearm, but the impact still thudded deep, rattling through bone and breath alike. Air punched out of her lungs as Flick spun again, momentum carrying her seamlessly into the high hooking heel kick aimed for Mirewyn’s head.

Mirewyn ducked under it at the last moment, the rush of air grazing her hair as the kick sailed just overhead.

She slid back a half step, bare feet scraping the canvas, eyes sharp now and fully awake as she caught her breath. A smile tugged at her lips, not playful anymore, but pleased.

“So,” she murmured under her breath, just loud enough for Flick to hear. “Looks like I'm not the only one with thorns”

She raised her guard, palms open rather than clenched, and shifted her stance, lowering her center of gravity. Flick’s speed was undeniable, a flurry meant to overwhelm, to force panic or retreat. Mirewyn did neither. She circled slightly, letting Flick’s energy dictate the rhythm for the moment, watching how she reset her feet, how her shoulders turned before each strike.

When the next opening came, Mirewyn stepped in instead of away.

She slipped inside the range of the kicks, one arm snapping up to check Flick’s thigh while the other reached for control, angling for a tight body clinch at the waist. Her intent was clear even as the motion unfolded: to smother that speed, to bring Flick’s momentum down into the soil where Mirewyn thrived. If she could anchor herself properly, Mirewyn began to turn her hips, setting her weight and lining up a judo-style foot sweep, attempting to cut Flick’s base out from under her and drag the fight down onto the mat and into her territory!

[HotWheels]

Bing, bang, and not quite boom. As much as Flick adored the intricate art of tying people into all sorts of shapes, coiling around bodies like a boa constrictor, and squeezing them silly, she found a simple, perhaps slightly sadistic joy in just kicking people to their knees. Everyone looked at the ribbons and the pastel aesthetics and expected soft grappling, not heels digging into all their squishy little tissues. The fact that the final heel kick whooshed over hair didn't dampen her spirits one bit; the tactile sensations of her connecting with Mirewyn's calf and ribs fueled a surge of adrenaline. She landed on the balls of her feet and immediately popped her hands onto her hips, leaning forward with a bratty, self-satisfied grin that practically dared the hard cam to look anywhere else.

"Caught you napping a bit there, didn't I?" she teased, her chest heaving slightly not from exertion, but from the sheer thrill of getting to brag a bit already. "Not as much of a fly to catch as you might think!"

She refused to let the momentum die. Flick circled a touch more, her eyes tracking the poisonous flower as Mirewyn reset her stance. Hmmmm... fakeout seemed the play. She snapped a knife-edge chop toward the other woman's chest - a flashy distraction meant to draw the eyes up. As Mirewyn reacted, Flick pivoted on her toe, muscle memory from a lifetime of dance taking over. She spun in a tight, fluid pirouette, transforming the rotation into a crane-style kick aimed straight for the chin.

But the foot never ascended past the waist.

Mirewyn crashed the party, stepping inside of the contortionist's sphere before Flick could fully extend. The sudden proximity short-circuited Flick's offensive plan; one moment she controlled the distance, and the next, strong arms locked around her waist, trapping her. A high-pitched, giggly yelp escaped her lips as her base vanished, the sensation of being handled so roughly out of her own maneuver sending a confusing jolt of excitement through her nervous system.

"Ey! Shit..."

The sweep took her legs out from under her with undeniable authority. Flick relaxed her body instantly, rolling with the momentum rather than fighting it, hitting the mat with a controlled thud that dispersed the impact across her back. But gravity only claimed her for a second, just enough to send a jot of impact pain through her shoulder that swept across her chest. Even as Mirewyn followed her down to keep her down, the contortionist struck. The very leg caught in the sweep shot upward, bending at an angle that would make an orthopedic surgeon wince. Flick looked to hook her calf firmly underneath Mirewyn's chin, using the leverage of her flexible limb like a crowbar to peel the woman off the top of her.

[DJPow]

The sweep had done its job, but Flick’s body refused to stay where gravity wanted it. As Mirewyn followed her down, intent on riding the momentum and keeping her grounded, she felt that impossible leg snap upward, the contortionist’s calf threading under her chin with startling speed. The pressure caught her high across the throat and jaw, levering her posture backward before she could fully settle her weight.

A sharp grunt left Mirewyn’s chest as she instinctively planted one hand on the mat to keep from being peeled completely off. Her neck strained against the crook of Flick’s leg, the angle forcing her spine to arch uncomfortably. For a brief moment, it was awkward, ugly leverage, the kind that punished anyone who panicked. Luckily, Mirewyn didn't.

She dropped her hips lower instead of pulling away, widening her base and driving her weight down through her core. She slid her free arm across Flick’s shin, forearm pressing into muscle as she worked to blunt the leverage at its source. The pressure wasn’t pretty, but it was effective, turning the elegant contortion into something more contested.

“Clever,” she breathed, voice tight but controlled as she adjusted. “You bend so... beautifully.”

Rather than try to force her head free outright, Mirewyn shifted her angle, turning her shoulders and tucking her chin as much as the position allowed. Her hand slid from the mat to Flick’s ankle, fingers wrapping firm as she began to press the leg back toward the canvas inch by inch, testing how much resistance that joint could offer before it had to yield.

Mirewyn rotated the ankle outward even further while pinning the shin against her shoulder, forcing the joint into an angle it was never meant to hold under pressure. Her grip tightened, thumbs digging in as she leveraged her body weight to amplify the torque. She stayed grounded, deliberately cranking the ankle while keeping her weight low, intent on forcing Flick to either endure the strain or scramble for reprieve. Her fingers flexed around the foot again, testing the limits, feeling for the point where resistance turned into pain.

The mat creaked beneath them as Mirewyn settled in, fully committed to the counter attempt as the battle of the two submission artists unfolded on the canvas!

[HotWheels]

Theeere.

The crook of Flick's calf locked under Mirewyn's chin, and she felt the immediate resistance in Mirewyn's neck, muscles going taut as they fought the angle. The weight that pinned her down shifted backward, redistributing as the flower tried to keep from being peeled completely off. Sure, fine. Stay there, get a crick in the neck for her efforts. Flick grinned, feeling the strain ripple through her own hamstring as she maintained the pressure. Her ribbons scraped against the canvas as she adjusted, digging her shoulder blades into the mat for better leverage - which hurt from the landing, yeah, but she could deal as long as she delivered pain back and kept feeling the woman's pulse hammering against her calf muscle.

"Oh yeah," she breathed in response, voice pitched just loud enough for Mirewyn to hear over the crowd. "You bet your ass I'm clever. And I dare you to find someone bendier." Or more beautiful, but she didn't add that part.

Course, she could feel Mirewyn, who clearly knew what she was doing, planting a hand for leverage. Flick flexed her toes, adjusting the angle minutely, testing how much more pressure the position could give her before she'd have to transition to something else. Nothing with her shoulders involved - they still sort of hurt. She would need to-

Fingers locked around her ankle like a vice, and Flick's expression flipped from snide to concerned - at least as concerned as Flick could be.

The torque hit first, a sharp twist that yanked her ankle outward, and her knee followed with a reluctant pop. Shiiiit, okay. A lot of things bent a long way, but not ankles, not that far. Flick's breath hissed through her teeth, her free leg twitching against the canvas as her body tried to compensate and help her lean into the sudden torque on her ankle as Mirewyn tried to force it away from her body in the worst way possible.

Thumbs dug into the soft tissue around the joint, and Flick felt the muscle start to give, the flexibility she relied on turning traitor under that methodical, brutal pressure. Her stomach clenched, heat flaring through her core in that confusing mishmash of adrenaline and arousal that always hit when someone hurt her just right, and a frustrated, heated moan-groan emerged at the same time her toes curled from the pain and pleasure.

Nah, yeah, couldn't give into that action just yet.

"Alright, alright-" The words came out breathless, edged with laughter she didn't quite feel. "Enough of... that." She planted her free foot flat against the canvas and arched her back, using every inch of her flexibility to create space. The bridge lifted her hips off the mat, took a fraction of the pressure off, let her breathe. She hooked her free leg around Mirewyn's posted arm, trying to disrupt the base by scissoring Mirewyn's arm between her legs. The heat of the other woman's body radiated through the points of contact, and Flick felt sweat starting to slick her skin where fabric met flesh. They were pretty much locked in halves at this point.

...Actually, she was complicating this, wasn't she? At the realization, Flick tilted her head, glanced over Mirewyn's body, and hmm'd just before she gave up her balance on her bridging foot to throw it out and kick Mirewyn's base - her propped arm - out from under her. They'd probably both go tumbling, but at this point...

[DJPow]

The referee hovered close by, staring at the tangle of limbs and joint manipulations in an attempt to decipher a submission. Mirewyn's attack on her opponent's foot seemed like the closet thing to it, her deft fingers slowly working over Flick's ankle and testing the limits of the woman's joint. But her opponent didn't seem keen on finding out. Instead Flick’s spine arced off the canvas like a drawn bow, hips lifting and ribs flaring, all that impossible flexibility creating space where there should have been none. The torque on the ankle lessened just enough for Flick to breathe and scheme, and that alone told Mirewyn she couldn’t linger there much longer. Then came the scissor.

Flick’s free leg slid around her posted arm, calf and hamstring clamping tight and dragging her base off alignment. The pressure stretched across the back of Mirewyn’s elbow joint, enough to force her to make a decision or risk the consequences. Sweat slicked beneath the contact points, heat rolling off both bodies as the mat vibrated faintly under their tangled struggle.

Mirewyn adjusted, shoulders tight, core braced, intending to shift her weight and re-seat her leverage when that realization flickered through the contortionist’s face, the brief, calculating hmm right before everything went sideways. Flick’s bridging foot snapped out and hammered into Mirewyn’s propped arm, driving the limb inward and sending her entire center of gravity pitching off-kilter. The torque she’d been applying vanished the instant her weight collapsed, and the entangled knot of limbs unraveled violently.

Mirewyn hit the canvas shoulder-first, rolling with the momentum to avoid taking it flat on her back. She carried through into a tumble, let the motion play out, and pushed up to a knee with her hair swept across half her face. Her jaw set as she shook the tingling numbness from her arm, fingers flexing once, twice, testing.

“Mm.” Her voice was low, appreciative in its own way. “I hope you don't expect to slip my grasp that easily ever again” she said with a faint curl at the corner of her mouth

She rose the rest of the way to her feet, chest rising with steady, composed breath. Her gaze found Flick again with that same quiet fascination she’d worn since the start, eager to test, challenge, and eventually break her bendy foe.

As soon as she was back on her feet, Mirewyn led with a tight, snapping inside leg kick aimed for Flick’s thigh. The strike wasn’t meant to be decisive, but Mirewyn was aiming to deliver enough force to make it sting, shake balance, and invite her back to the mat. And if she was lucky, maybe the kick would jostle that tender ankle as well, just to remind Flick that every clever escape came with a receipt.

[HotWheels]

The kick connected with Mirewyn's posted arm, and Flick felt the satisfying give as the woman's base collapsed. They both tumbled in opposite directions, the entanglement unraveling violently as momentum carried them apart. Flick rolled with it, letting the canvas absorb the impact across her shoulder and back, and came to a stop on her side. She pushed up onto her elbows, chest heaving, grinning like an idiot despite the fact that her ankle was still complaining with the aftershocks and her shoulders ached from hitting the mat earlier and not getting a rest after.

Flick rolled onto her side and tested her weight on the ankle that Mirewyn had been torquing - tender, yeah, definitely tender, but no long-lasting damage. Just properly worked over in exactly the way that made her skin flush a bit hot. She planted both hands and pushed up to sitting, pausing there for half a second to catch her breath.

But across from her, Mirewyn was getting up too - shoulder-first roll, smooth recovery, shaking out her arm where Flick's scissor had caught it. That little moment of vulnerability, fingers flexing to test for numbness, made Flick's grin widen. She still looked effortlessly gorgeous even with sweat starting to dampen her skin, though. Almost a bit annoying if it wasn't so hot. She also wanted to brag a bit, and Flick wagged a finger at her.

"You say that like I'm not gonna try," Flick shot back, brightly, as she climbed to her feet.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, testing how much give she had left in the joint. Still plenty of spring. And now she was aware that Mirewyn knew exactly how to exploit joints, and aware that she'd have to be smarter about her approach.

"Right, so-" Flick started, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms. "-I think I'm already half in love with you, by the way. Just so you know. Proper romantic, that tangle."

She wasn't entirely joking. Getting worked over like a stress ball always did it for her. If anything, the adrenaline and the arousal had started blending together.

No time to think on it, though. Mirewyn moved, and Flick's brain clicked back into focus just in time to register the leg kick snapping toward her thigh. She tried to pull back, but the kick caught her mid-thigh with a sharp, meaty thwac* that sent a jolt of pain radiating through the muscle, made it jiggle. Her leg buckled slightly, weight shifting onto her tender ankle, and the reminder of Mirewyn's earlier work flared hot and immediate.

"Ow- fuck-"

The impact threw her balance off just enough that she had to hop-step backward to stay upright, and her ankle protested the movement with a spike of discomfort. But as she often did, the Brit pushed through it. Flick reset her stance for half a second, then exploded forward. She closed the distance in three quick steps, and despite the throbbing in her ankle - or maybe spite of it - she planted hard on the opposite foot and exploded upward.

Her athleticism and years of acrobatic training overrode the pain. Flick twisted mid-air, her thighs spreading wide as she aimed to wrap her legs around Mirewyn's head for a flying headscissors. The rotation felt good, felt right, momentum carrying her through the technique even as her ankle reminded her this was probably a terrible idea.