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

[BlackAkuma]

If Madeline thought she could wear Sister Lucia down through suffering, than it only showed how little this tasteless tart truly understood about her. Small as she was, slight as she may be, this holy warrior was driven by faith, and she had long since learned how to use that faith in a way that would let her push past that which others would find unbearable. There was strength in a righteous cause. It was her armor.

Even so, she would be lying if she said that the legs currently crushing down on her ribs weren’t an increasingly vexing problem that she would like to solve in the near future. Before her ribs were ground into a fine paste.

In the end, however, the advantage was still firmly on her side. The body could push past pain as long as the mind was willing, but oxygen? No amount of focus would help someone if they couldn't breathe, and Madeline would find precious little air between Sister Lucia’s glistening globes. That knowledge drove her on, even as the wilful woman continued to stimulate her with that wicked tongue, threatening to push her past the brink again.

It would all be for naught. Sister Lucia was more than ready to endure another orgasm, humiliating though it may be, if she could force one out of the harlot. She could sense that Madeline was reaching her carnal limits, as well. Just a little more and then-

Madeline must have sensed her doom approaching as well, because, after a final flex of pulsing power, she abruptly unclasped her legs. Sister Lucia cried out as her ribs unfurled all at once and a full blast of oxygen rushed into her tortured lungs, but that was hardly the last of it.

Madeline tipped forward, bringing Sister Lucia’s face unceremoniously to the mat. She was able to get her hands up at the last moment to mitigate the impact, but only just, and not enough to save her from the full force. It was still a harder hit than she would’ve liked, and she would’ve liked nothing at all.

But it was not so distressing as what came next. With Madeline’s face free, she could now breathe and focus, so it was no surprise that efforts redoubled in that moment. It was a good thing that Sister Lucia’s mouth was against the floor, as it muffled the unbidden cries that were spilling from her lips. She could feel another surge working through her body, another orgasm on the way. Inevitable, now.

But if she was going into that abyss, she would not do so alone.

Instead of pulling away, Sister Lucia locked her legs, clasped her ankle, and brought her thighs down on Madeline’s neck with a crushing reverse headscissor. Though she might not have had as much power to bring as the brunette, that was the beauty of targeting the neck - not much force was needed, and her limbs were lean and solid, packed with unflinching muscle. At the same time, she brought her lips to Madeline’s nethers once more and matched the woman’s effort with her, plunging her tongue deep, pushing her face far into the folds, engulfing her features with the fetid flesh.

A kamikaze attack, a wild gambit, but one she was willing. Even as she shuddered and another climax set her nerves alight, she continued to plumb those depths, working Madeline over while her juices spilled along her foe’s face.

[Lightman]

Madeline had never considered herself a religious woman. The number of times she had set foot in a place of worship could be counted on one hand, and it was never a pursuit that stirred any particular interest within her. Yet she could recall, with surprising clarity, one Christmas Mass she had attended in her youth, where the choir sang. Regimented, every voice knowing its assigned part, with no room for individual expression or flair. It had possessed a certain charm, she supposed, in its mechanical precision.

That was precisely what Lucia’s moans and cries reminded her of just now: a choir, reluctantly rehearsed, performing against its own will. And though Madeline would never claim to have played the organ, the melody she was conducting beneath the canvas was, by any measure, a delightful sound.

Most instruments, after all, required air to be played, and now, with blessed oxygen flooding her lungs once more, she found herself free to conduct every note and every key entirely to her whim. Her mouth and tongue stroked, lapped, and prodded with the precision of a true technician, as if each movement were a passage in some carefully practised composition. The growing wetness against her face was proof enough of her proficiency. This was art. One that Lucia, predictably, seemed intent on destroying. A foolish endeavour, of course.

Though it seemed the nun wished to play as well. Never one to sit meekly amongst the audience, the deluded champion dove straight back in, and the sudden return of her attentions brought a brief pause, a shock to Madeline’s system, and a heated moan that escaped the Englishwoman’s lips before she could suppress it. That moan was promptly choked off in her throat as those lithe, deceptively strong legs wrapped around her neck, ankles locking behind her head as the nun’s thighs swelled to full power. Back to no air again. Lucia sought to finish what she had started, and Madeline could feel, with uncomfortable clarity, that it would not be long before her own dam broke beneath the assault.

Madeline recovered quickly, and in that moment of clarity, she made a choice. She was going to climax, yes; the accumulation of stimulation and the suffocating heat made that a foregone conclusion. But the Englishwoman was damned certain that she would not be the first in this sordid affair. If she were to be dragged into the abyss, then Lucia would be pulled down into it ahead of her.

So she doubled her efforts, every shred of discipline and technique channelled into a final, devastating offensive. Her tongue burrowed deep, striking the right places with uncanny accuracy, as if she knew Lucia’s body far more intimately than the woman would ever care to admit. The reward came swiftly: another explosion of nectar, splashing hot and uncontrolled into Madeline’s mouth as the champion’s second climax tore through her. Madeline barely had a moment to savour the taste, the sweet vindication of it, before her own body betrayed her in kind.

Madeline herself erupted. Her juices spilt out across the nun’s buried face, a shuddering, involuntary flood that matched her foe’s in every measure of abandon. The English Rose tightened her legs around Lucia’s head, riding out the waves of her orgasm, each tremor rolling through her powerful frame until, at last, it ebbed into a calm, sated rest.

[BlackAkuma]

It would bother Sister Lucia, greatly, that there was no way to avoid Madeline taking two orgasm over her one. Bad enough that she was the first to claim one in this match, but her taking a second only salted the wound, even if it didn’t truly matter in the goal of winning this match. It was the principal of things - she was the Hentai Champion, and as such, she needed to establish her dominance, reinforce the pecking the order of this division so that she could subjugate it.

A setback. An error. One that she would correct before this night was through. That thought, among many others, drove Sister Lucia along as she continued her carnal work, tormenting Madeline’s nethers even as the brunette sought to do much the same.

Sister Lucia came. Of course she came. It was inevitable, and there was simply no fighting the euphoric wave that came over, the second blast of bliss that threatened to overwhelm her sense. But, satisfying as it was, it paled in comparison to the thrill that came along with it, as the Briton’s body finally succumbed to her own whims. The shudder. The trembling. That distinct, accrid taste spilling out onto her tongue. If Sister Lucia had not been so busy being choked, she might well have laughed.

Madeline had climaxed.

She savored the moment. It might not have seemed like such a grand victory, but making a woman of such sexual prowess spill was nothing to scoff at, and even with her deficit it brought a certain sense of control. Winning this match was within her grasp. She simply needed to get to the rope, and then…

The ropes. The ropes that were outside of the ring. She needed to get those, but with the two of them trying to strangle each other with their legs, it wouldn’t be the easiest thing. She did have an idea on that front, though it would hardly be the most pleasant affair.

Desperate times, desperate measures. With their legs still clamped tight around each others head, Sister Lucia through her body to the side, trying to force them into a roll. One roll, then another, then another - she could go until they went under the bottom rope and tumbled out onto the floor. Not ideal, but it would release her from the leggy trap.

[Lightman]

Madeline felt neither shame nor regret as her climax spilled across the deluded nun’s buried face. In a match of this particular stripe, orgasms were not mere accidents but inevitabilities, signposts along a road both competitors had chosen to walk. Indeed, she would have felt something akin to ire had Lucia failed to draw one from her at all; such a failure would have suggested the contest lacked the competitive fire Madeline demanded. It was reminiscent of Hardstyle Hentai bouts she had contested in years past, save that this night offered a different path to victory, one paved with bondage rather than pinfall.

What gratified Madeline most, what sent a smug satisfaction coursing through her veins even as her body shuddered, was the indisputable truth that Lucia had succumbed first. For all her piety, for all her supposed devotion, the champion had lacked the willpower to withstand Madeline’s deliberate provocations. Two orgasms she had suffered now, and God alone knew how the Spaniard would have fared against the more seasoned seductresses of this division.

The crowd understood what came next, as did the referee, who hovered nearby with the wary posture of a zookeeper approaching two mating vipers. Both women had been undone; both had descended from the blissful high…

…yet neither showed any inclination to separate. Their thighs remained locked around one another’s heads, muscles bulging and biting with a ferocity fuelled by mutual disdain. Without the distraction of pleasure, the focus had shifted entirely to pain. Lucia’s legs, Madeline conceded, were nothing to scoff at; cords of lean muscle expanded and crushed against her jaw with surprising ferocity. Yet the Englishwoman’s own thighs were the stuff of legend, and she offered no quarter, no surrender, even as her airways were compressed and her vision threatened to swim at the edges.

If the Spaniard wished to duel in this manner, trading agony for agony in a stalemate of scissored violence, then Madeline was more than content to oblige. She had endured worse, survived longer, and her confidence in her own endurance was absolute.

As it transpired, Lucia had no stomach for such a contest of attrition. A tap-out would offer nothing beyond pride and bragging rights, and Madeline suspected the nun’s pride was a currency she hoarded jealously. The Englishwoman felt the shift in Lucia’s body first, a subtle repositioning of weight that preceded the sudden, violent roll. Madeline did not immediately register the first rotation, lost as she was in the suffocating darkness between Lucia’s thighs, but by the second she understood the intent. The ropes. Lucia was steering them toward the boundary, seeking the sanctuary of the ring’s edge. Madeline calculated swiftly, estimating the distance, preparing herself for the inevitable break that would follow. A few seconds of respite, nothing more.

Except that the rolling did not cease at the ropes. Lucia dragged them both onward, under the bottom cable, and sent them tumbling from the apron into the void beyond. They struck the thinly padded floor with a collective, bone-jarring impact, the unforgiving surface driving the air from Madeline’s lungs. Instinct took precedence over strategy; her thighs unclasped upon impact, releasing Lucia’s head from the vice grip, and she rolled away from the tangled limbs, drawing in great, shuddering breaths as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her hair a curtain of brunette chaos about her flushed face.

[BlackAkuma]

While Sister Lucia’s legs weren’t as powerful as, say, Chastity’s, they were still nothing at which to scoff - doing so would be like saying that rifle’s power was nothing compared to a cannon’s. True that may be, but both were still lethal in their own way, and her legs were capable of putting a woman to sleep, as well. Perhaps not in so grand a fashion of her compatriot, but it was well within the realm of possibility.

That being said, Madeline’s set were impressive as well, something that Sister Lucia could now attest to with painful knowledge. She clamped her face tight, not wanting to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing how much she was effected, but there was simply no hiding the way her body was being effected, the greying in her eyes and the increasingly distant sounds of the crowd. Being knocked out might not end the match by itself, but she had no doubt that, if she went to sleep, she would wake up to find herself bound and short a title.

Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.

That was the calculus running through her mind as she rolled them towards the edge of the mat. Over and over and over until-

The good news was that they came down on their sides. Not that there was any good way to do something like this, but it would’ve been significantly worse if Madeline, the heavier woman between them, had come down right on top of her smaller frame. As it was, Sister Lucia smacked the mat and took a hard hit to her ribs, but it was nothing that she could not recover from, and it served its purpose: Madeline’s legs unclapsed, and her head was free.

Sister Lucia immediately rolled over to her front and pushed up to her hands and knees as she sucked in lungfuls of air. The good thing about having her second orgasm was that her body was somewhat numbed by the first - while she could hardly say she was unaffected by Madeline’s ‘gift’, she was more able to find some clarify. Enough to analyze her surroundings. Enough to plan her next move.

Sister Lucia punched the floor, using the pain summon a quick burst of adrenaline, and then she was off to the races. She stood, but only for a scant second before she leaped forward, just enough to plant her foot on top of the staircase. She glanced over her shoulder, just long enough to gauge the distance, then she launched herself backwards, soaring through the air at a high angle.

Arms spread wide, she let out a silent prayer as she flew, entrusting her body to the Lord as she came down from on high and slammed her back into Madeline’s voluptuous chest with her signature move - Blind Faith.