The Book of Lucia, Chapter III - Sister Lucia (c) vs. Madeline Christiansen for the LAW Hentai Championshp

[BlackAkuma]

”I’m telling you, Chas.” Prudence spoke without a hint of doubt. ”She’s going to do it again. Guarantee.”

A few minutes later, Prudence was getting comfortable with her ‘sister’, the two of them both taking space on the surprisingly spacious mattress, oddly big for one person. She couldn't recall when, exactly, she’d decided to get cozy, but at some point she’d just sort of…drifted over. Chastity had a way of magnetizing you, sometimes. A touch here, a whisper there, a little pull, and next thing you knew, she was all over you like a longtime lover. Prudence still wasn’t sure whether she did it on purpose or if it came naturally, but either way, it was effective.

Though Prudence had been temporarily broken out of the spell a few moments ago, when it legit looked like Lucia had gotten herself knocked out, in a breast smother of all things. They knew Madeline was going to be a formidable opponent, but neither of them had expected that so early on. As much as Prudence didn’t like this plan, she found herself wishing that Lucia had sprung the trap earlier to avoid a situation like this.

Thankfully, things weren’t as desperate as they seemed, with their wise leader pulling off a little trick and catching Madeline by surprise. That got her some rare ground over the technician, and though the brunette had made it to the ropes, Lucia still had the high ground.

But she had space, too. And Prudence could see that cocky look in her eyes. She could taste what was coming, enough to place a little wager on it with Chastity, who remained skeptical.

”You think too little of her. While Sister Lucia can be a tad…” Chastity took a moment to roll her wrist about as she searched for the most diplomatic word. ”...stubborn, she is a skilled combatant, without a doubt. Too smart to try such a thing and fail twice. And this wager of yours is folly. If you wish for me to give you pleasure, all you need to do is ask.”

That was true enough. Prudence had asked her a few times, and she never said no, always quite eager to engage. She suspected some of the others had similar arrangements, but she didn’t want to pry about it. ”It’s fun to bet, add stakes. Besides, I know this. Just watch.” She held up her hand and ticked it off with her fingers. ”Three, two…”

”Last Rites! She’s going for the Last Rites again!”

Sure enough, Lucia came charging forward, whirling around in a blur of motion, as she closed in on Madeline. Sure enough, the Briton saw it coming and ducked under it. Sure enough, Lucia was sent careening over the top rope, hit the apron on the way down, and flopped to the floor below.

”Told ya so.” Prudence chuckled and slid up the bed, giving some easier access to her loins. ”You know what to do.”

As Lucia began to groggily rise off the floor at ringside, Chastity rolled her eyes, dipped down, and went to work.

[Lightman]

“What was that saying? Pride before the fall?”

Madeline’s voice drifted down from above with effortless composure as she stepped out onto the apron. The hard edge of the ring creaked faintly beneath her weight while the arena lights gleamed across toned skin and dark fabric alike. She lowered herself into a kneel before settling upon the apron itself, one leg folded neatly while emerald eyes stared down toward the champion below. “It seems divine intervention appears rather selective tonight.” She added coolly.

Inwardly, Madeline could not fully understand the decision Lucia had made.

Pressuring an opponent recovering against the ropes was intelligent. Aggressive. Necessary, even. Yet attempting that very same kick again, so soon after it had catastrophically failed the first time, bordered on absurdity. Lucia was too fast to be careless, too experienced to lack awareness entirely. Which left only arrogance. The sort of arrogance that convinced a woman her moves existed beyond counterplay simply because they had worked before.

For a first defence, it was becoming dangerously embarrassing. Part of Madeline wondered whether she should simply allow Lucia to unravel herself entirely. Let the champion sprint headlong into humiliation under the weight of her own ego. Yet the thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Madeline desired victory, certainly, but not over a fool. She wanted resistance worthy of a championship. Skill worthy of the spotlight. Anything less cheapened the contest itself.

Outwardly, however, none of that disappointment touched her expression.

Lucia slowly stirred at ringside, groggy from the ugly spill onto the floor below. The black and gold habit had become dishevelled from the tumble, blonde hair spilling untidily around flushed features as she struggled upright. The audience buzzed loudly overhead, sensing momentum beginning to tilt away from the champion despite the match’s early stage. Madeline merely watched. Then she moved.

The brunette leaned forward from the apron and seized a fistful of Lucia’s habit near the collar, dragging the smaller woman closer with calm authority. Lucia scarcely had time to protest before Madeline shifted smoothly onto her side atop the apron itself, guiding the champion’s head down across one powerful thigh. The position looked deceptively intimate. Cruelly so.

Lucia’s face would be turned upward toward the blinding white arena lights while Madeline adjusted her hold with meticulous precision. One leg remained planted securely against the apron for balance while the other hovered above Lucia’s throat like the sword of Damocles. Muscles flexed beneath smooth skin.

Then the leg dropped like a guillotine.

Madeline’s thigh slammed across Lucia’s throat before her ankles crossed tightly together, trapping the nun’s head between sculpted legs. The pressure came instantly. Relentless. Her thighs bulged visibly with effort as they constricted around the trapped neck, compressing airway and blood flow alike with frightening efficiency.

A clean headscissor choke. And from the apron no less.

[BlackAkuma]

…admittedly, this was not going quite the way Sister Lucia had hoped.

While she did have contingencies in place, as any wise leader should, she had hoped that they wouldn’t become necessary, that she could win this match solely through her own exceptional skill. She was the Champion, after all, and yet there were those who whispered that she was unworthy of the title, that she lacked the skill to hold it. While she cared little for the snorting of pigs, she would be lying if she said that the thought of proving them wrong didn’t fill her with glee. If she landed that kick, if she took Madeline out in a single stroke, all doubts would cease, and she would show this smug little slattern why she earned the title she so proudly carried.

And yet, she had missed, again. And yet, she was the one on the floor.

It had been a nasty tumble, too. Sister Lucia had nearly hit her head on the edge, but she’d managed to adjust in mid-air and hit her back instead, before she came flopping down on her chest. She nearly lost her veil along the way, and she was adjusting it as she rose with a shaky head, corralling her senses as she went. While she did, she could not help but notice the rise din from the audience. It sounded like anticipation, as if-

”What-” Sister Lucia cried out and squirmed as she was yanked back, hauled away in Madeline’s steely grip. Before she could properly process what was going on, she found her head on something soft and warm, a comfortable resting place. It only came to get a moment later, when she saw Madeline’s bare thigh above her face, and she realized she was between the harlot’s accursed legs. But why…

Oh. Oh.

By the time she realized what was about to happen, there was no longer any ‘about to’. The leg came down, clamped on her throat, and her neck found itself trapped between two hardened limbs, as Madeline powered down with her legs. While Madeline’s leg power wasn’t as devastating as Sister Chastity’s, that was a bit like saying a bulldozer had less power than a tank. Both were frighteningly powerful instruments, and Sister Lucia didn’t relish being between either.

She kicked about, pulled at the thighs, but there was no way she could see to escape such a hold at the moment. The good news was that she wouldn’t have to, as the referee had already begun the count. If Madeline wanted the belt, then there was only so long she could keep this up. Still, ten seconds could be a long time in a hold such as this, and she doubted the woman would be fooled by her playing dead twice.

[Lightman]

Madeline lounged upon the apron as though she belonged upon a velvet chaise in some aristocratic parlour rather than the edge of a wrestling ring. One elbow supported her upper body while her head rested lightly against her knuckles, the picture of composed elegance. Her free hand brushed stray brunette strands behind one ear with almost lazy indifference.

Beneath that poised exterior, however, her lower body told an entirely different story. The champion’s head remained trapped viciously between Madeline’s thighs, Lucia’s body hanging awkwardly off the apron while the Englishwoman’s legs constricted around her throat with merciless force. The contrast was almost obscene.

Around them, the audience erupted into a confused storm of cheers, gasps, laughter, and horrified fascination. The referee hurried frantically nearby as the count began, but Madeline paid neither crowd nor official much mind. Her attention remained fixed solely upon the woman trapped between her legs. Every twitch travelled through Lucia’s frame into her own. Every desperate pull against her thighs only confirmed the effectiveness of the hold.

Emerald eyes lowered toward the blonde with cool amusement. “Oh? Are you not going to feign unconsciousness?” Madeline mused softly. “I suppose it must be hard to do, in the position you’re in.”

Her legs flexed harder. The muscles along them bulged visibly beneath smooth pale skin as the pressure intensified around Lucia’s windpipe and carotid arteries alike. Madeline knew exactly how to apply such holds. There was an art to choking someone properly. Precision mattered more than brute force alone. Positioning. Compression. Consistency. Unlike many wrestlers who simply squeezed wildly and hoped for results, Madeline understood the body intimately. She knew where panic began. Knew where pain overtook composure. Knew precisely how long a woman could endure before instinct supplanted pride.

And unlike certain more righteous heroines within LAW, Madeline had little interest in mercy.

Had Lucia selected some shining sweetheart to challenge, perhaps she might have found compassion at the referee’s count. A reluctant release. Hesitation. But Madeline was not built that way. Lucia had spent this entire encounter attempting to demean, provoke, and humiliate her opponent while cloaking herself in sanctimony. Madeline saw no reason not to return the favour.

“Perhaps we should make a game of this. Something of a motivator.” Madeline continued, voice low and velvety. “If you survive until the referee forces me to stop, I may permit you another indulgence afterwards. You seemed rather fond of my bosom earlier.”

The faintest smile curved her lips.

“I’d say that’s a perfect prize for somehow surviving this…ordeal.”

Whether Lucia wished to answer or not hardly mattered. The champion could scarcely manage coherent sounds now. Madeline simply tightened the hold further, ankles locking securely while her hips adjusted minutely to maximise leverage. The squeeze became absolute. Ruthless. No wasted effort. No dramatic jerking. Just constant, crushing pressure that denied even the smallest comfort.