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.

[BlackAkuma]

Sister Lucia would’ve loved to tell Madeline a good many things at the moment. She would’ve loved to tell her how futile this all was, how it didn’t matter that she was enjoying a temporary advantage. The tide would turn, she would seize control, and she would plunge this cow into an abyss the likes of which she had never seen.

”1…”

She would say all that and more, if not for one problem: She couldn't breathe.

”2!”

Sister Lucia kicked about and thrashed in Madeline’s hold, pulling at her bare thigh in search of even the smallest wisp. Unlike the last time, this wasn’t a gentle smothering, not a discomfort with a hold thrown in. No, she was being genuinely choked, fighting for consciousness with every moment. She had seen Chastity apply such a hold on one of their initiates and knock her out in less than five seconds. Could Madeline do something similar?

”3!”

Sister Lucia had no intentions of finding out. She sneered Madeline’s way as the woman dared to taunt her once again, but in a small way, her japes were a blessing, as they gave her something to focus on, something at which to direct her fury. Rage was a strong emotion, a potent fuel she could work with.

”4!”

Madeline was saying something, but Sister Lucia paid it little head, having far more important things on which to focus than a fool’s rambling. The constriction was growing tighter with each second, but thrashing would get nowhere - no, she needed to focus on at least reducing the damage she was taking. To the end, she closed her eyes, her face scrunched up, and she put her mind to the task of staying clear

”5!”

She planted her feet, stood on her tiptoes and arched her back, stretched as far as she could to alleviate some of the pressure, or at least dull gravity’s effect on it. A small measure, but in a game of inches such as this, that counted for a good deal.

”6!”

She made a move to try to unclasp the ankles with her hands, but a quick probing revealed that to be a futile gesture, with them being clamped so tight she couldn't have slid a finger in. An effort to try and pull Madeline off the apron proved just as futile - the weight difference and the awkward position made it untenable, and she could’ve grasped the ropes for support even if she did manage.

”7!”

The referee was slow-counting her; she was sure of it! Bias from the corrupt LAW officials, no doubt. Colluding against her, trying to cut her righteous reign short. She would show them. Them, the audience, and most of all this harpy who currently had her neck in a vise and was getting a rise out of with childish taunts. All she needed to do was hold on a little longer, little longer...

[Lightman]

Madeline saw Lucia’s struggles sharpen almost immediately. There was no pretending through this. No theatrical fading. No clever little performance capable of deceiving an experienced grappler maintaining direct physical control. Madeline could feel the desperation mounting through every convulsion travelling up the smaller woman’s body. Fingers clawed uselessly against her thighs. Legs kicked wildly against the floor outside the ring. The trapped throat worked frantically beneath constricting muscle, yet precious little air passed through.

And Madeline held steady through all of it. Her expression barely changed. Only those emerald eyes betrayed anything at all, a dark glimmer settling behind them as she watched the self-proclaimed prophetess suffer between her legs. Lucia had spoken so confidently before the bell. Declared herself chosen. Promised ruin and humiliation. Yet now the champion could do little more than writhe soundlessly while suspended against the apron like prey caught in a serpent’s coils. And Madeline intended for her to feel every single second of it.

“1!”

The referee’s count rang out over the roaring arena while Madeline adjusted slightly upon the apron, the motion subtle yet deliberate. Her ankles remained crossed tightly away from Lucia’s jawline while her thighs continued to flex with crushing consistency. Just merciless pressure applied with educated precision.

“2!”

Lucia kicked harder. Madeline watched calmly as the blonde attempted to ease the choke, stretching upward onto her tiptoes in search of even the smallest reprieve. Clever enough in theory. Reducing gravity’s pull upon the neck could buy precious moments in a proper headscissor. Yet theory and practice often diverged violently once exhaustion and oxygen deprivation entered the equation.

“3!”

“You’re doing so well.” Madeline purred, her voice dripping with mock encouragement. “Keep fighting. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your lord now, would you?” Lucia’s fingers worked next at the crossed ankles, testing for weakness. There was none to find. Madeline’s legs remained locked like forged steel around the trapped neck, every shift in pressure instantly compensated for before advantage could be gained.

“4!” And then Madeline would make things worse.

Madeline rolled fully onto her back. The movement appeared almost casual. Lazy, even. Yet the effect upon Lucia was immediate and vicious. Her trapped head would follow the motion downward while the rest of her body remained suspended awkwardly outside the ring. The resulting angle forced the blonde into an ugly arch, spine curving painfully while her throat remained cinched between Madeline’s thighs.

“5!”

A muffled gasp escaped Lucia as her body bent further. Madeline rested both hands comfortably behind her head now, lounging against the apron as though sunbathing somewhere along the Riviera instead of strangling the reigning champion half unconscious. “There now.” The English Rose purred. “Excellent posture. Hold it a little longer for me.”

“6!”

The crowd noise swelled louder with every passing second. Some counted alongside the referee. Others simply screamed in anticipation, waiting to see whether Madeline would actually risk disqualification for the sake of punishing Lucia further. The referee herself sounded increasingly frantic as she hovered nearby, prepared to intervene the moment the count reached its limit. Lucia’s struggles had grown noticeably weaker now. Not absent, completely. But definitely diminished.

“7!”

Every movement carried more desperation than strength. Her feet scraped uselessly against the floor while her hands pawed weakly at Madeline’s legs. The brunette could feel the trembling travelling through the trapped body beneath her hold. Oxygen deprivation stripped away dignity first, then coordination, then consciousness itself. Madeline slowly uncrossed one hand from behind her head and gently patted Lucia’s cheek. “So stubborn.” She whispered. “I almost admire it.”

“8!” The referee nearly shrieked the number this time.

Madeline’s eyes finally shifted upward toward the official, calculating precisely how much longer she could indulge herself before consequences outweighed amusement. She had no desire to lose a championship opportunity over something so avoidable. Tempting though it might have been to leave Lucia gasping and helpless a little longer, strategy always outweighed indulgence.

“9!”

At the very last moment, just before the count of nine completed itself, Madeline released the hold. The steel thighs left Lucia’s battered throat as the pressure vanished. Yet Madeline did not allow the champion even a heartbeat to recover properly. One hand seized a fistful of blonde hair near the crown while the other gripped tightly at the waistband of Lucia’s attire. With startling ease, the Englishwoman hauled and shoved the smaller wrestler beneath the bottom rope, forcing her body back into the ring proper before following herself in one smooth roll beneath the ropes.

[BlackAkuma]

So, this was what it felt like to be hanged.

It was a morbid thought, one that came unbidden into Sister Lucia’s mind, but as Madeline turned to her back and cranked the hold to an obscene angle, it was the only one that came to mind. The move changed from painful to genuinely distressing, as her short stature came back to bite her once again. Were Sister Lucia a taller woman, she might have been able to find some purchase on the ground with her feet to alleviate the pressure, but like this she was only able to occasionally scrape against it with the toes of her boots.

She clenched her teeth and hissed, as a dozen curses and insults died in her throat. There was no give in Madeline’s leg, no space for her to find easement, only this ceaseless, increasing pressure as the woman’s thighs continued to encroach. She was saying something - taunts, certainly, from the tone of it - but she couldn't make out the words of the war drums beating in her ear.

Her heartbeat. Growing slower. Slower. Slower. She was vaguely aware of that condescending pat on her cheek, fueling her raw hate, but…

The darkness had only begun to creep into Sister Lucia’s vision when the hold abruptly ended and the pressure was taken away from her neck. Coughing, wheezing, she came screaming back to full consciousness all at once, and her immediate instinct was to try and scramble back into the ring. Perhaps she would have made it on her own, perhaps not. The point was moot, as Madeline seized her and dragged her back into the ring before the count could finish, anyway.

Sister Lucia rolled once, then twice, then a final time to flop over onto her front. ”You-” She tried to form a sentence, but her lungs kept demanding air, looking to replenish their depleted stores. ”You stupid…you…”

Sister Lucia smacked her fist against the canvas and sucked in as much air as she could stand, putting an end to her sputtering all at once. ”I am going to return that suffering to you before this night is over, whore.”[/colo] She pushed on the canvas and steadily began to rise. ”I swear it.”

[Lightman]

“You know…” Madeline said coolly. “…It would help if you learned to breathe before attempting another sermon.”

The Englishwoman had already slipped back beneath the ropes ahead of the count, one knee resting against the canvas as she rose with effortless poise. Across from her, Sister Lucia sprawled in an untidy heap, coughing hard as air finally returned to abused lungs. The champion’s veil sat crooked upon golden hair, her chest heaving beneath the black and gold habit while fury simmered behind watering eyes.

Madeline watched the spectacle in silence for a moment. Then she stood. Each measured step carried her closer while Lucia forced herself upward through sheer stubbornness alone. The nun’s threats came ragged and breathless, broken apart by lingering coughs and exhausted gasps, yet the venom behind them remained unmistakable. Madeline scarcely reacted. Empty insults had long since lost the power to trouble her. One did not survive years within LAW, within this division especially, while possessing thin skin.

Lucia would have barely managed to straighten when Madeline surged forward. The sudden burst of movement was set to catch the champion out before she could properly brace. One hand swept behind Lucia’s neck while the other secured tightly along her side, drawing the smaller blonde sharply inward until their bodies collided chest to chest. Lucia’s eyes widened as those infamous curves pressed against her once again, the brunette’s perfume and warmth surrounding her in an instant.

“Mmhm~.” Madeline tilted her head slightly. “Don't tell me you forgot already? You won our little game outside.” Her lips curved with faint amusement. “And you neglected to claim your reward.”

Before Lucia could properly answer, Madeline moved.

Years of elite grappling experience revealed themselves through the sheer smoothness of the transition. Her hips shifted across Lucia’s centre line while her planted leg drove hard against the mat. Simultaneously, her upper body twisted with violent precision, hauling the champion upward against her torso. Lucia’s feet left the canvas abruptly as Madeline arched backwards into a devastating belly to belly suplex, never relinquishing control of the blonde’s head for even a second.

[BlackAkuma]

This match was not going the way Sister Lucia had planned in her first defense. At all.

She had known that Madeline would be a challenge, yes. Even she wasn’t so confident as to think it would be a simple, easy match, that she would steamroll the larger woman with ease. But she was the champion, not the other way around. She should’ve been the one pressing her offense against Madeline and keeping her on the backfoot. Instead, her foe was getting the better of her with alarming frequency, and she could only scrape out occasional bouts of advantage. It was an uphill battle, when it should’ve been downhill.

The frustration was welling up within her when Madeline surged forward, closing the distance with a couple of quick steps. Sister Lucia drew back her arm to strike, but the woman clutched her tight before she could throw the punch, and she had to be content with landing an effective blow against the woman’s ribs.

For a moment - a hot, intense moment - their bodies pressed close, so tight that she could feel the steady thrumming of Madeline’s heart, smell the sweet scent of her hair, taste the salty bite of her skin of her tongue. The woman’s curves threatened to overwhelm her, and a moan came out without her permission.

In the next moment, she was being flung through the air, ragdolled with ease, in a path that only ended when her back slammed into the ground, nailed with a belly-to-belly suplex. Instinct made her rise after the impact to get her shoulders off the ground, but there was little else she could do at the moment besides squirm underneath her foe. ”I assure you,” She spoke in growls. ”I have no interest in your rotten fruits!”