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

[BlackAkuma]

Sister Lucia’s might not have had the raw power that Sister Chastity boasted in her lower limbs, but they were a far cry from weak. If the Austrian’s legs were akin to battleships, then hers were more like fighter jets - fast, sleek, small, but capable of doing great damage when properly applied.

Sister Lucia had always preferred to rely on her speed, from her earliest days as a wrestler, when she humbled women who easily eclipsed her size. They always underestimated a small woman like herself, thought that they would only need a few strong hits to take her down, which was true. But she outlasted them, outfought them, dragged them into the deep water and drown them under a sea of strikes. She had been a giant killer, in her best days.

And now she was, again. For a different purpose. A better purpose.

When her kick landed on Madeline’s body, smacking hard against that thickness, an electric thrill ran through Sister Lucia’s system. It might not have seemed like much, but Madeline, she figured, did well to foster this veneer of strength, putting on the facade of an implacable woman of war. That strike, small as it was, put a chip in that armor. Madeline had been denied, and Sister Lucia would continue to deny her. The pace was no longer hers to set.

Despite her simmering rage, Sister Lucia could not deny her racing blood as she came after Madeline, eager to land more blows. Perhaps that orgasm had been a blessing in disguise, then, a way to bring the focus she needed. If that were so, then such a boon might see her through these dark times.

If that were so, she might not need that step.

Sister Lucia let that thought stew for a moment, as she once again closed the gap with Madeline. The woman wasn’t trying another sidestep, seemingly getting the unspoken message. She could either go back or forward, and as it so happened, she settled on the latter. Her opponent was going low. A takedown of some kind. Sister Lucia wasn’t familiar enough with the more complex grappling styles to recognize it at a glance, but she had more than enough experience to know it was trouble. The exact last thing she wanted was Madeline getting a solid hold of her.

She dipped lower herself as she moved and lashed out, throwing a right cross at Madeline’s face…

…only it wasn’t a right cross. Instead, Sister Lucia’s hand open as it neared, going past the woman’s face and instead reaching for that beautiful, lustrous hair that she was so proud of. Her fingers gripped it tight, using it as the perfect handhold.

It wouldn’t hold Madeline for long, and the referee would certainly put a stop to it, but Sister Lucia only needed a second. That was all the time she would need to jerk her head forward, attempting to crack their skulls together with her signature move,

.

[Lightman]

There were advantages to being a grappler. Control. Pressure. The ability to dictate where a fight took place and how long it stayed there. Once someone like Madeline wrapped herself around an opponent, the match transformed into something suffocating and intimate, every breath negotiated beneath crushing limbs and practised leverage. It was why grapplers inspired such dread in strikers. One mistake could condemn you to minutes of torment beneath someone who knew exactly how to manipulate the human body.

But there were weaknesses, too. A striker did not need prolonged control to alter the course of a fight. They needed moments. Tiny openings. A single clean impact delivered at the correct angle and speed could disrupt everything a grappler wished to build. Lucia had been showing that ever since abandoning her earlier…hesitation. Madeline had imposed herself utterly on the mat, yes, but whenever the blonde managed to keep things standing, the pace became far less comfortable for the Englishwoman.

And Madeline was enjoying every second of it.

The slight smile resting upon her lips had little to do with maintaining appearances now. Lucia may have interpreted it as arrogance, the same smug mask Madeline had worn since the bell rang, but in truth the brunette found herself genuinely entertained. That was rare. Most opponents became predictable once pressure mounted. Lucia, however, kept adjusting. Kept changing. Every exchange forced Madeline to think carefully rather than simply dominate through superior positioning. Respect, faint though it was, had begun to form.

Lucia’s assaultive style had become far sharper after that orgasm, almost frighteningly so. The nun no longer fought like someone attempting to uphold doctrine. She fought like a woman desperate to reclaim ground that had been stolen from her. Her movements had purpose now. The kicks came hard. The punches faster still. Even her footwork had gained sharper intent as she sought to cut Madeline off from open space and herd her exactly where she wanted her.

Which was precisely why Madeline attempted the feint. The fake single-leg entry came cleanly enough to invite the expected reaction. Lucia lacked the deeper grappling instincts to fully recognise the setup, but she understood enough to know danger when she saw it. The right cross came shooting forward exactly as Madeline anticipated, opening a path beneath it that the brunette could slip under and around, bypassing Lucia’s line entirely before the champion could properly react. At least, that had been the idea.

Instead, fingers suddenly buried themselves into Madeline’s chestnut hair. “Aah!”

The sharp yelp escaped her before she could suppress it. Her forward movement halted violently as Lucia wrenched tight upon those long locks, dragging her head upward and ruining the escape entirely. Irritation flashed instantly through Madeline’s emerald eyes. There was the schemer again. The underhanded little creature hiding beneath all that righteousness. “You tricks-”

And then came the headbutt.

Lucia snapped forward with brutal commitment, driving her skull directly into Madeline’s forehead before the Englishwoman could properly recover. The coif no doubt absorbed much of the impact for the champion herself, but the golden studs decorating the white fabric turned the collision vicious all the same. Bone cracked against suspiciously hard cloth with a sickening thud that echoed through the nearby crowd.

Pain exploded across Madeline’s vision. Her head jerked backwards as the force travelled straight through her skull, bright sparks bursting across her sightline. Instinct forced her stumbling back half a step while one hand rose immediately towards her forehead. Even through watering vision, she could already feel the throbbing imprint left behind by those infernal golden markings.

Didn’t even take that long for the smile to vanish from Madeline’s lips completely.

[BlackAkuma]

”Lucia, no!” The referee cried out, while he echo from the colliding skulls was still reverberating. ”Headbutting and hairpulling, come on-”

”Shut. Up.”

Sister Lucia had little patience for the wailing of referees, even before her conversion. Disqualify or don’t, but the warnings always went unheeded, and she was not about to be lectured by a zebra. Besides, it wasn’t as if the impact had been all that pleasant for her, either. While she viel was built with certain protections that softened the impact on her side, it was still a collision between the hardest parts of their bodies, storing the most important organ. It still hurt, a piercing that cut into her head and left her ears ringing. A lump might developed later, something to look forward to.

But worth it? So very much so. Because, even through her haze, she could see that Madeline was not smiling anymore.

It was hard to be certain in the midst of madness, but some in the crowd had been getting behind her for a moment, as she pressed her offense against Madeline. She could understand why it was always easier to root for the smaller wrestler; she could not have cared less, knowing whatever animosity she had erased would return with interest the moment she appealed to their souls.

She was not out to please the crowd, or Madeline, or even her sisters, in the end. She fought for an audience of one, and when she sent Madeline stumbling away, she knew He looked down favorably upon her.

Now, though, was not the time to rejoice. There was a gap between them, an opening, and she sought to fill it.

Sister Lucia was stumbling back from the hit as well, but instead of resisting it, just kept going, moving backward with solid steps and building momentum. She cashed all of that movement in when she hit the ropes, and suddenly she was bursting forward at full tilt, a mad sprint across the ring, dashing in low as she approached. She waited until the last possible moment, then leaped straight up with legs open wide, a soaring path that had her thighs coming to rest on the brunette’s shoulders, slamming into her upper body with all of her weight.

She crossed her legs, wrapped them tight around Madeline’s neck, and for a single, intimate moment, the two of them were as close as lovers. Sister Lucia’s lap, still rank with her last orgasm, pressed against Madeline’s face, the bare underside of her breasts pressed against the top of her head, and a hot breath ran alongside her foe’s face and found her ears.

Then the second passed, and she threw herself back with all the force she could muster, pulling her legs in as she went, attempting to force Madeline’s body to flip and come down on her head, going for a slick Frankensteiner.

[Lightman]

That coif had felt far harder than any piece of cloth had any right to be.

Madeline had never been headbutted by a nun before, nor had she ever intended to make a habit of it, but the impact lingering through her skull told her plainly enough that Lucia’s attire served more purpose than simple ceremony. The golden studs had bitten into her forehead with ugly force, and even now a dull pulse throbbed beneath her skin. Disappointing, really. For a fleeting while, it had begun to feel like Lucia genuinely wished to fight her head on, without the sermons, without the theatrics, without the sly little tricks hidden beneath layers of righteousness.

Then again, perhaps that expectation itself had been foolish.

Lucia had shown precisely who she was throughout the H-1 Climax. A woman willing to exploit anything she could grasp. Rules bent. Loopholes abused. Underlings used. Moments twisted in her favour through whatever means available. Whether that involved fake vulnerability, cheap shots, or sanctified hypocrisy mattered little to her so long as victory remained within reach. Madeline had already fallen for one performance earlier in the match, and now she had paid for another lapse in vigilance with a skull-rattling collision.

Lesson learned.

Bright sparks still drifted through Madeline’s sightline as she steadied herself. The overhead lights bled together strangely, harsh white beams cutting across blurred vision, while the distant roar of the crowd seemed muffled beneath the ringing in her ears. She took another careful step backwards, more instinct than strategy, hoping the impact had dazed Lucia equally enough to buy herself a second to recover her bearings.

Just a second. That was all Lucia needed too.

Suddenly, there were legs around her shoulders. Madeline’s eyes widened sharply as Lucia launched herself upwards, the smaller body colliding against her upper frame with surprising force before those powerful thighs wrapped tight around her neck. Heat greeted her immediately. Dampness too. The lingering aftermath of Lucia’s earlier climax pressed embarrassingly close against Madeline’s face, the scent of sweat and exertion hanging thick between them while the underside of the nun’s breasts brushed against the crown of her head.

For one suspended moment, they remained there, horribly intimate. And Madeline knew exactly what came next. But recognition alone could not save her.

Her body was still recovering from the headbutt when Lucia threw herself backwards with violent commitment. Madeline felt her balance ripped out from beneath her as the smaller woman used momentum and leverage beautifully, dragging the taller brunette forward despite the size difference between them. The sudden pull forced Madeline’s long body up and over in a brutal arc.

Then came the canvas.

The top of her skull struck hard with a sickening thud as the Frankensteiner completed, jolting through her spine and leaving the entire ring seeming to bounce beneath her. A sharp gasp tore from Madeline’s lips while her limbs momentarily betrayed her, body folding awkwardly from the impact before sprawling across the mat.

[BlackAkuma]

It was an oddly beautiful sort of moment. Time seemed to freeze as they pressed together, as her veil came over Madeline’s face and shrouded them in darkness. Those eyes. More than anything else, Sister Chastity had spoken about this woman’s damned eyes. Not her breasts, not her hips, not her legs, but those tiny little things in the middle of her skull. She had spoken of how beautiful they were, how they drew your attention with an almost hypnotic magnetism. Sister Lucia had dismissed it all as flowery nonsense.

But now, so close, she could see it. She feel it. Those eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and even now they sparked notions, desires, wants, suggestion. Sister Lucia would have like to look into those eyes.

But not nearly as much as she wanted to close them.

And she did just that. The crowd gasped, a collective intake, as Sister Lucia brought Madeline arching overhead, bringing her head on a path that only stopped when it hit the canvas at ramming speed. The impact was cannonfire, a thick thud that sounded like nothing a human body should be creating, and Sister Lucia looked over her shoulder to see Madeline’s body flop forward, then came down for a rest.

And now it was her turn to smile again, but not the pleasant smile she put on for the masses, nor the cruel smile of a conqueror that she had come in with. This one was sharper. More satisfied. Laying Madeline out like this, even temporarily, was a balm to her wounded soul.

After taking a moment to shake her head and stop the spinning, Sister Lucia swung around on her knees and made her way back over to the fallen woman. She brought her face over Madeline and looked down on her, her head eclipsing the lights and forming a halo about her head.

Sister Lucia brought her knees down on Madeline’s hair, pinning her head to the mat. She suspected the woman was about to say something, but even if she didn’t, she would still reach over and put her hand the woman’s mouth, muffling her. ”I say you’ve talked entirely enough for one day, Madeline Chrsitiansen.” She said the name with the same tone she reserved for her slurs. ”I have a much better use for that mouth.”

Sister Lucia would leave little doubt what that use was, as she promptly slid forward, brought her knees down on Madeline’s shoulder, and roughly dropped her perk buttocks on the woman’s face, pressing her head against the canvas as she settled in for a fullweight facesitting.

Not that she had all that much weight for such a move in the first place. But proper balance could make up for a good deal in such endeavors, and she had no small amount of that.

[Lightman]

There was a blinding flash, then pain. Sharp at first, then deep and throbbing, spreading across Madeline’s scalp in heavy pulses that seemed to shake the inside of her skull. For the briefest instant, darkness threatened to pull her under entirely. Her body wanted to surrender to it. The collision with the canvas had rattled her hard enough that lesser women would already have gone limp.

Madeline refused. Her teeth clenched as consciousness clawed its way back into focus through sheer stubbornness alone. It was not the first time she had been dropped on her head in a wrestling ring, and it certainly would not be the last. Championship matches demanded more than ordinary resilience. They demanded standards. Resolve. Pride. The challenger understood that better than most. The English Rose had not walked into this match simply to entertain a crowd of hungry voyeurs or trade taunts with an infuriating little nun. She fought because this division deserved better than deceit wrapped in sanctimony. She fought because gold ought to represent excellence rather than delusion. Even through the haze clouding her thoughts, that conviction remained steady.

Unfortunately, so did Sister Lucia.

Madeline felt the pressure of knees pinning her hair against the canvas before her vision fully stabilised. Chestnut strands trapped beneath the blonde’s weight tugged painfully against her scalp whenever she shifted. Then came the hand over her mouth just as she had begun to speak, cutting her off mid-breath. The irony of it nearly made her laugh.

At least she got the full name right, this time.

A few moments ago, it had been Lucia trapped beneath warm flesh and muffled into silence. Now the champion sought to return the favour with all the smug little vindication she could muster. Madeline could feel the tremor still running through Lucia’s body as the nun moved above her. Residual aftershocks from that earlier climax lingered in every motion, no matter how much the woman wished to disguise it beneath righteous fury.

Then Lucia dropped down fully onto her face. Madeline’s emerald eyes narrowed beneath the oppressive seat forced upon her. Lucia lacked the overwhelming weight of certain women Madeline had faced before, but technique compensated for plenty. The positioning was clever. Knees planted well. Hips angled properly. The pressure concentrated directly across the lower half of Madeline’s face while keeping her head pinned flat against the mat. Smothering was not always about size. Control mattered far more.

The sound came muffled beneath the champion’s rear as Madeline shifted beneath her. Strong shoulders rolled against the canvas while her hips twisted sharply from side to side, testing the balance of the hold. Lucia clearly knew enough to adjust with her movement, forcing her centre lower whenever Madeline tried to buck free. The crowd noise swelled around them in ugly fascination, thousands eager to watch the proud Englishwoman reduced to this. Though it's not the end of Madeline's story, not if she had anything to say about that.

Her hands slid upwards, deliberate rather than panicked. One palm settled against Lucia’s hip while the other traced along the curve of the nun’s lower back, fingers spreading wide as Madeline gauged posture and balance through touch alone. Grappling was honesty. Bodies revealed truths words never could. Tension, hesitation, weight distribution, even weakness. And Madeline was exceptionally good at reading people once her hands were on them. The Briton drew one knee upwards beneath Lucia’s body, creating the smallest incline beneath the champion’s centre of gravity. Simultaneously, her grip tightened at the hip, fingers digging firmly into fabric and flesh alike as she planted her free foot against the canvas.

[BlackAkuma]

She supposed she would have to thank Sister Chastity for this.

At first, she had not seen the benefit of facesitting, at least for her. While she could acknowledge that it would hold some value for a woman like Sister Chastity and her ‘gifts’, it had seemed like a silly thing for her to try. Sister Lucia was svelte, with the body of a dancer. While she was not without her curves, she was not like the Austrian. She was not ‘ample’.

Sister Chastity had made her see the error of her ways, through rigorous and enthusiastic instruction. Frankly, she was creepily thorough about it, breaking down facesitting in the way one would’ve expected from a sensei. There was much practice, sometimes with their initiates, who eagerly volunteered, and sometimes between themselves. It was important that, as a hentai champion, Sister Lucia had all the tools at her disposal. Or so, the Austrian insisted.

Sister Lucia had spent a fair bit of time between Sister Chastity’s cheeks, and Sister Chastity had spent a fair bit of time between Sister Lucia’s cheeks. While she would absolutely never admit it to this woman, she and Madeline had more in common than the brunette might realize.

This was the product of it. Sister Lucia might have been small, but she knew how to work with what she had, and as Madeline would no doubt attest, she could keep the woman’s head under control with minimal difficulty. She read the woman’s movements before she made them, adjusted to meet them every time, kept her cheeks firmly planted and only allowed the occasional gasp and infrequent slivers of light.

”Is something amiss, slattern?” She brought her butt up for a not even a second, before she slammed it back down and resumed the smother. ”You seem a touch quieter all of the sudden. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”’

As she continued, she made sure that her cheeks were firmly pressed for the best coverage. Controlling the head meant controlling the body, so there would be little to fear so long as her weight was properly maintained, but that didn’t mean Madeline wouldn’t try to wrestle her way free. She clearly had something in mind, the way she brought her leg up…

Whatever the plan was, Sister Lucia would have none of it. First, she made a slight change to the position - she lifted up and created space, but only so she could reach back, yank Madeline’s head up, and cross her legs under the back of the woman’s head. She resettled immediately after, creating an even tiger seal, one she could enforce with her squeezing thighs.

The next step was to do something with that leg. With one arm, she reached out, grabbed Madeline’s ankle, and pulled it in, making her leg bend to an awkward angle. Restriction, more restriction, meant less options. Less freedom for her foe to do what she pleased.

And there was also the added bonus of putting her groin tantalizingly close. Sister Lucia had not forgotten the stipulations of this match. ”You seemed less than impressed with the pleasure I offered before.” She reached down and putting up the outfit above her bare thigh, bringing Madeline’s proud pussy into the air. ”A differect tact, then.”

Down Sister Lucia went. A tongue first, leading the way like a ram through the gate, piercing her folds and working its way deep as her lips followed. She pulled out, then plunged deeper, then deeper, growing more persistent with every passing moment.